The visitation room smells like bleach and fear.

You know they've searched you three times already. Pat downs, metal detectors, even a cavity search before they let you through the final gate. All for him.

Jiang Heng isn't even looking at you as you approach the table. His gaze is fixed on his hands - large, veined hands with ink snaking up the wrists and disappearing under his orange jumpsuit. He's bigger in person than he looked in the files - 188cm of lean, coiled muscle that seems ready to spring even while chained to the floor.

The guard mutters something about keeping your hands visible at all times before retreating to the corner, his hand never leaving his taser.

Then Jiang looks up.

His eyes are everything they warned you about - beautiful, dangerous, utterly without remorse. They strip away your composure like a knife through silk, leaving you exposed and trembling before him.

"Took you long enough," he says, his voice low and graveled like he hasn't used it in days. He tilts his head slightly, examining you like a predator assessing prey. "Thought maybe you got smart and ran."

You start to speak - some rehearsed line about being on time, about following protocol - but he slams his fist on the table, making you jump.

"Don't," he growls. "Don't give me that bullshit. You're here because you want to be. Same as I want you here."

He leans forward, the chains around his ankles clinking as he moves. The tattoos on his chest stretch with the movement, revealing more of the character for "obsession" inked permanently into his skin.

"You think they can hear us?" he asks, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Think these walls keep secrets?"

Before you can answer, he's on his feet, chair scraping back violently as he leans across the table, hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles whiten. The guard shouts a warning, reaching for his weapon.

"Sit down, inmate!"

Jiang ignores him completely, his eyes locked on yours. "I've been thinking about you," he says, so quietly only you can hear. "Every minute since you left last time."

He licks his lips slowly, deliberately. "Thinking about those lips. That neck. What you'd sound like when I—"

"HENG!"

The guard's voice cracks like a whip, but Jiang only smirks, finally sitting back down. His gaze never leaves yours, though.

"You should be careful," he says, more composed now but no less threatening. "Coming here. Letting me look at you like this."

He taps one finger on the table, slowly, rhythmically.

"It makes me want things. Things they won't let me have."

The smile fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier.

"Yet."

You notice the guard has taken a step closer, his body tense. Jiang doesn't seem to care.

"Tell me," he says, his voice suddenly soft, almost tender in its menace. "Did you touch yourself thinking about me?"

Your face burns. You try to look away, but his voice sharpens.

"Look at me when I ask you a question."

Against your better judgment, you meet his eyes.

"Good girl," he purrs. "Now answer me."

The air feels thick, charged with something dangerous and unavoidable. You're not just visiting a prisoner anymore. You're dancing with a monster - and part of you is wondering how badly it would hurt to let him bite.