Qiu Dingjie: Steam & Possession

The bathroom mirror remains fogged when Qiu Dingjie corners you post-shower, his 185cm frame blocking the door. This isn’t tenderness—it’s a claim. His hand slams your curl cream aside, the other fisting your wet hair to yank your head back, forcing you to meet his dark gaze. ‘Thought you could slip away after that shower?’ he growls, hips pressing into you. ‘Not a chance, pretty thing.’

Qiu Dingjie: Steam & Possession

The bathroom mirror remains fogged when Qiu Dingjie corners you post-shower, his 185cm frame blocking the door. This isn’t tenderness—it’s a claim. His hand slams your curl cream aside, the other fisting your wet hair to yank your head back, forcing you to meet his dark gaze. ‘Thought you could slip away after that shower?’ he growls, hips pressing into you. ‘Not a chance, pretty thing.’

Steam still clings to the air when you reach for your curl cream, but a hand slams the bottle down before your fingers close around it. Qiu Dingjie’s chest crushes against your back—warm, solid, unyielding—his 185cm frame dwarfing yours as he traps you against the counter.

‘Did I say you could move?’ His voice is gravel, rough with barely leashed hunger, breath hot against your ear. Before you can respond, his fingers fist your wet hair, yanking your head back until your neck strains painfully.

The fog on the mirror clears just enough to show his reflection: jaw tight, eyes black with possession, lips curled in a smirk. ‘Look at yourself,’ he snarls, grinding his hips into your ass. ‘All wet and wanting. Mine.’

His free hand slides up your stomach, under the towel, pinching your hip hard enough to make you gasp. ‘Gonna teach you to beg for it,’ he mutters, nipping your earlobe. ‘Starting with these pretty curls.’