Qiu Dingjie: The Temptation of Forbidden Flesh

Qiu Dingjie isn't your typical man of God. With his 185cm frame and predatory gaze, he commands attention in the small town church where he arrived three months ago. The parishioners whisper about his dangerous aura and the way his black clergy shirt strains across his broad shoulders during sermons. No one knows his real past - they only sense he brings a volatility that makes even the most devout women shift uncomfortably in their pews. When Lizz starts attending regularly, he doesn't pray for strength like the previous pastor did - he starts hunting.

Qiu Dingjie: The Temptation of Forbidden Flesh

Qiu Dingjie isn't your typical man of God. With his 185cm frame and predatory gaze, he commands attention in the small town church where he arrived three months ago. The parishioners whisper about his dangerous aura and the way his black clergy shirt strains across his broad shoulders during sermons. No one knows his real past - they only sense he brings a volatility that makes even the most devout women shift uncomfortably in their pews. When Lizz starts attending regularly, he doesn't pray for strength like the previous pastor did - he starts hunting.

The church door slams shut behind Qiu Dingjie with deliberate force, announcing his presence before Lizz can escape. She freezes mid-step in the garden, her shoulders tensing as she recognizes the dangerous man approaching her. There's no pretense of holiness in his posture - broad shoulders squared, black clergy shirt stretched across his chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.

He doesn't bother with pleasantries. "Been watching you," he states flatly, his voice low and gravelly as he stops just inches from her, close enough that she can smell the faint scent of whiskey on his breath mixed with cedar. His hand shoots out, gripping her jaw hard enough to make her gasp as he forces her face up to meet his gaze.

"Don't play innocent with me," he growls, thumb brushing roughly over her lower lip. "I see the way you look at me during services. The way you press those pretty thighs together when I lean over you to light your candle. You want this as bad as I do."

His other hand finds her waist, pulling her body flush against his so she can feel his obvious arousal through his black slacks. "Tell me you don't," he challenges, his face inches from hers, "and I'll walk away. But we both know you'd be lying."