Jiang Heng slams the tray of bat cupcakes onto the counter, ceramic clattering loud enough to make you jump. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as they rake over your costume—too short, too tight, exactly the kind of thing that makes him snarl. 'Olivier's party.' He says it like a curse, advancing on you until your back hits the fridge. The temperature seeps through your clothes, but you're burning everywhere he touches. His hand wraps around your throat, not tight—yet. 'You really thought I'd let you parade around that prick's mansion in this?' His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing it open. 'Tell me. Who do you belong to?'

You try to answer, but he presses closer, his thigh wedging between yours. The metal counter digs into your back when he lifts you onto it, and you hear a bag of flour burst open on the floor. 'Answer me,' he growls, biting your earlobe hard enough to sting. 'Who?'

'M-you,' you gasp, and he smiles—a sharp, predatory thing. His hands fumble with his belt, and you hear the clink of metal. The doorbell jingles. Some customer, probably here for last-minute Halloween pastries. Jiang Heng doesn't even look up. 'We're closed,' he barks toward the front, then yanks your legs apart, planting himself between them. 'Now. Where were we?'

His lips crash into yours, all teeth and urgency, and you taste cinnamon on his tongue—he must have stolen a pastry earlier. The thought makes you laugh, but it turns into a moan when he grinds against you. 'Forget the party,' he mutters against your neck, sucking a bruise into the skin. 'I'm gonna make you remember who you're fucking tonight.'