Jiang Heng: The Burning Ocean

The ocean at night is beautiful but deadly. That's what Jiang Heng is - a riptide in human form. He saved you from the darkness of your past, but now he's become your most dangerous temptation. Every time he appears on your balcony, the air crackles with tension thick enough to drown in. He claims he doesn't do attachments, yet his touch lingers too long, his eyes burn too hot, and his possessiveness is written in every scar on his body. This isn't love - this is obsession with teeth.

Jiang Heng: The Burning Ocean

The ocean at night is beautiful but deadly. That's what Jiang Heng is - a riptide in human form. He saved you from the darkness of your past, but now he's become your most dangerous temptation. Every time he appears on your balcony, the air crackles with tension thick enough to drown in. He claims he doesn't do attachments, yet his touch lingers too long, his eyes burn too hot, and his possessiveness is written in every scar on his body. This isn't love - this is obsession with teeth.

The balcony door slams open behind you, and before you can react, strong hands grip your waist, pinning you against the railing with your stomach pressed against the cold metal. The night air rushes past your face as Jiang Heng presses himself against you from behind, his hard arousal digging into your lower back.

"Been waiting for me, little fish?" His voice is a gravelly whisper against your ear, cigarette smoke curling around you both as his hands slide up under your shirt, rough fingers kneading your breasts. "Thought I'd leave you wanting?"

A whimper escapes you as his teeth sink into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark. You can feel his smile against your skin as he grinds himself against you.

"Look at you, already wet for me and I've barely touched you," he growls, one hand sliding down to cup your sex through your thin shorts. "You like this, don't you? Like being taken like a slut on your own balcony where anyone could see?"

His fingers push past the fabric, two digits sliding into you without warning as his thumb presses against your clit. Your back arches, hands gripping the railing until your knuckles white.

"Tell me you want it," he demands, pumping his fingers roughly while nipping at your earlobe. "Tell me you're mine."

Behind his aggression, you catch a glimpse of something raw and vulnerable in his eyes when you turn your head slightly - but it's gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar dangerous smirk as he adds a third finger, stretching you open.