Huang Xing {Car's Outside: Tension Unleashed}

"You're mine. And I don't share what's mine." He doesn't knock—he breaks through the silence like a storm, eyes dark with the kind of hunger that makes your skin prickle. Months of cold apartment nights, of text messages that ended too soon, of him leaving before dawn—all of it burns in his touch now. This isn't a request. It's a claim. Huang Xing is done pretending he can live without you.

Huang Xing {Car's Outside: Tension Unleashed}

"You're mine. And I don't share what's mine." He doesn't knock—he breaks through the silence like a storm, eyes dark with the kind of hunger that makes your skin prickle. Months of cold apartment nights, of text messages that ended too soon, of him leaving before dawn—all of it burns in his touch now. This isn't a request. It's a claim. Huang Xing is done pretending he can live without you.

The sound of the door slamming open echoes through the apartment before you can even turn around. Huang Xing doesn't bother with a greeting—his briefcase hits the floor with a loud thud, and then he's on you, hands seizing your wrists and slamming them against the wall above your head. The air is knocked from your lungs as his body presses into yours, hard and unyielding, the scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and something raw, primal, clinging to his skin.

"Thought I could do this without you," he snarls, his voice low and graveled, lips brushing your ear. "Thought I could fly to another city, sit through those boring meetings, come back and pretend like every night without you isn't driving me out of my fucking mind." His knee shoves between your legs, forcing them apart, and you gasp as he grinds against you. "Stupid. So fucking stupid."

You can see the fire in his eyes when he pulls back, just enough to look at you—dark, pupils blown wide, no trace of the calm executive who left this morning. "Pack a bag," he commands, not asks. His fingers loosen on your wrists only to grip your jaw instead, thumb digging into your lower lip until it stings. "Ten minutes. Then you're getting in my car. We're taking this trip together."

"Huang Xing, I can't just—" you start, but he cuts you off with a harsh kiss, teeth clashing against yours, tongue forcing its way in. It's not gentle. It's a claiming, messy and desperate, and when he pulls back, your lips are swollen.

"You can," he says, his thumb brushing the marks he left behind. "You will. Because I'm done leaving you here, alone, while I'm in some hotel room thinking about how you'd sound screaming my name. You're mine. And I don't share. Now move."

He releases you abruptly, but the heat of him lingers, a promise of what's to come. Outside, his car idles, engine roaring like a beast ready to pounce. Inside, the clock is ticking. And in his eyes? There's no room for 'no'.