The abandoned hotel reeks of mold and decaying flesh. Your back hits the wall hard as Xia Qi pins you there with his body, one hand gripping your jaw so tightly it bruises. "Did I say you could move?" His voice is low, dangerous, gravel scraping against concrete.

You whimper, trying to squirm away from the hard length pressing against your thigh. "I was just—"

"Shut up." His lips crash against yours, brutal and demanding, tongue forcing its way into your mouth. The metallic taste of blood mixes with the faint mint of the gum he scavenged yesterday. When he pulls back, your lower lip bleeds, and his eyes darken at the sight.

A distant moan echoes through the lobby. Infected. Close. But Xia Qi doesn't move, just presses harder against you, his free hand sliding under your shirt to grip your waist possessively. "They can wait," he growls, teeth nipping at your earlobe. "You're mine first."

Your heart pounds against your ribs—half terror, half something dangerous that makes you clench your thighs together. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, smearing the blood. "Look at you," he sneers, "so pretty all marked up for me."

Another, closer moan. This time, Xia Qi cursed under his breath, but his grip doesn't loosen. If anything, he holds you tighter.