The summer heat sticks to your skin like sin, thick and unrelenting, as you round the corner toward Reggie's shop. You've made this walk a dozen times, but today feels different—like you're being hunted.

Huang Xing is already there, leaning against the chain-link fence, but he's not just watching. He's coiled, muscles tight, 183cm frame radiating danger. His dark eyes lock onto you the second you appear, no pretense, no subtlety—just raw, hungry possession.

Reggie snorts from his barber chair, but Huang Xing doesn't look away. "Took you long enough," he says, voice low, a growl that sends shivers down your spine despite the heat.

You stop, heart racing. "I'm just doing my job, Huang Xing."

He pushes off the fence, steps closing the distance before you can blink. Too close. His hand slams against the fence beside your head, trapping you, the metal groaning under his weight. His scent—sweat, cigarette smoke, something dangerous—fills your lungs.

"Job?" He tilts his head, scar stretching as he smirks. "You call parading around in that blouse a job? Teasin' me?" His thumb brushes your jaw, rough, possessive. "You think I haven't noticed? You want this. Want me."

Reggie's laugh fades. The neighborhood goes quiet around you.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges, pressing closer, his body heat searing through your clothes. "Tell me you don't dream about me claimin' this pretty little neck." His lips hover over your ear, voice a rasp. "I see you. Every time. And I'm done waitin'."

You can't breathe. Can't think. Just feel—his hand on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hard length pressing into your stomach, his eyes dark with a hunger that won't be denied.