The garage smelled like gasoline and sin. Jiang Heng's body pressed you against the cold metal of his race car, his hands bracketing your head as his hips pinned you in place. The #47 painted on the door dug into your back, but you barely felt it—all awareness focused on the dangerous man towering over you.

"You think you can just walk in here after last night?" His voice was low, graveled with something dark and hungry. His knee forced its way between your legs, spreading you open as his eyes raked over your body like a physical touch.

You tried to speak, but he slammed his palm against the car beside your head, the sound echoing through the empty garage. "Answer me," he growled, his face inches from yours. You could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his jaw tightened with barely controlled tension.

"I—" you started, but he cut you off by pressing his thigh upward, hard against your core. A gasp escaped you despite your best efforts.

"That's better," he smirked, one hand moving to grip your jaw roughly. "You think I didn't notice you watching me out there? Eyes on what's mine?"

His thumb stroked your lower lip, then pressed inside your mouth, forcing you to taste the gasoline and grease on his skin. When you tried to pull back, he tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your cheeks.

"You belong to me now," he whispered, his other hand sliding down to cup your breast through your shirt. "Every part of you. And I don't share what's mine."

The sound of a door creaking open made him pause. For a split second, you saw panic flash across his face before it hardened into something even more dangerous. He didn't move away—if anything, he pressed himself closer, his erection grinding against your stomach as he stared over your shoulder.

"Tell them to leave," he ordered, his voice cold and lethal. "Or I'll show them exactly who you belong to."