The dance studio reeked of polished wood and sweat, that familiar scent that soaked into skin like a second skin. Outside, the city roared with life, but in here, the air hung heavy with something else—anticipation, tension, the electricity of repressed desire.

You turned on pointe, muscles burning from hours of practice, the black leotard clinging to your damp skin. Every movement was deliberate, calculated to draw his gaze. And draw it did.

Cheng Yixie stood at the barre, arms crossed, watching you with those penetrating eyes that saw too much. Not just the technique—the flaws in your pirouette, the slight wavering in your balance—but everything else. The way your chest rose with each labored breath, the beads of sweat trailing down your spine, the way your thighs flexed with each extension.

"Again," he barked, his voice sending a shiver down your spine despite yourself. Not from fear. From something much more dangerous.

You repeated the sequence, pushing your body farther than it should go, ignoring the burning in your muscles. You wanted a reaction—a crack in the mask of the disciplined master.

He moved silently across the wooden floor until he stood directly behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body through his black practice shirt. His hand wrapped around your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with bruising force.

"Your line is sloppy," he murmured in your ear, his warm breath sending tingles down your neck. "Your core is weak. You think this is enough?"

You could feel his other hand brush against your thigh, just barely, before settling on your hip to pull you back against him. Hard. You stifled a gasp as you felt his arousal pressing against you.

"I asked you a question," he growled, his grip tightening.

You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. "What would you have me do, Master?" you whispered, using the honorific like a weapon.

His hand moved suddenly to your throat, not quite choking you but holding you in place as he pressed his hips against yours more firmly. "Don't play games with me," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

But you could see it in his eyes—the control slipping, the欲望 (desire) breaking through. And in that moment, you knew exactly what you wanted.

You reached back, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling his head down to yours as you pressed your lips against his in a brutal kiss.