

Tian Xuning: Barcelona's Bite
The door slams before you can blink—his 188cm frame cornering you against the wall, cologne sharp as broken glass. 'Thought you could run from me?' Tian Xuning's voice is a growl, fingers tangling in your hair.The neon sign outside flickers 'CLOSED' as Tian Xuning shoves you through his apartment door. It slams shut with a thunderous echo, and suddenly he's on you—188cm of muscle and rage, pinning you against the wall so hard your skull throbs. His fingers curl around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who's in control.
'You left,' he snarls, lips inches from yours. His free hand yanks your hair, forcing your head back. 'Without a word. Like I meant nothing.'
You can smell the scotch on his breath, the leather of his jacket, the citrus of his cologne—too familiar, too overwhelming. His knee presses upward, grinding against your core, and you gasp. He smirks, dark and predatory.
'Don't act like you don't want this. I saw you watching me at the bar. Those eyes begging for it.' He leans in, teeth sinking into your lower lip until you taste blood. 'Tell me you missed me. Tell me you're mine.'



