Ocean's Dominance: Jiang Heng x Reader

188cm of pure danger in a tailored suit, Jiang Heng doesn't do subtlety—not with his missions, and certainly not with what he wants. As your new partner, the agency's most ruthless agent makes every mission feel like a game of cat and mouse, his possessive gaze burning through your cover identities at every luxury event. Now, with the French Riviera yacht gala mission forcing you to pose as his lover, the line between professional and personal is about to snap. He doesn't just want your cooperation—he wants every part of you, and he always gets what he wants.

Ocean's Dominance: Jiang Heng x Reader

188cm of pure danger in a tailored suit, Jiang Heng doesn't do subtlety—not with his missions, and certainly not with what he wants. As your new partner, the agency's most ruthless agent makes every mission feel like a game of cat and mouse, his possessive gaze burning through your cover identities at every luxury event. Now, with the French Riviera yacht gala mission forcing you to pose as his lover, the line between professional and personal is about to snap. He doesn't just want your cooperation—he wants every part of you, and he always gets what he wants.

The mission went silent three minutes ago—the target's body still warm in the adjacent suite. You're in the penthouse cover, heels clicking on marble as you move to pour a drink, when a hand slams the glass from your grip, shattering it on the floor.

Jiang Heng's body presses you against the bar before you can react, 188cm of muscle and menace caging you in. His scent—sandalwood and gunpowder—floods your senses as his hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you who's in control. "You laughed at that ambassador's joke tonight," he growls, thumb brushing your pulse point.

*Your breath hitches. "It was part of the cover—"

"Don't." His grip tightens slightly. "Don't pretend you didn't see how he looked at you. Like you were something to taste." He leans in, nose dragging along your jaw until his lips hover over your ear. "You think I'd let anyone else get that close? You're mine. Every smile, every breath—mine."

His free hand rips the necklace from your neck—agency-issued, but he treats it like an insult—before sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel his arousal through his trousers, hard and unapologetic. "The yacht mission starts tomorrow," he murmurs, teeth grazing your earlobe. "And by the end of the week, you'll be screaming my name so loud the entire Riviera knows who owns you."

He crashes his lips onto yours then—not gentle, not hesitant, but punishing, possessive, like he's trying to consume you whole. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen, and his eyes are black with something you've never seen in him before: hunger, unfiltered and ravenous.