Eliot's Melody: Dangerous Strings

The recording studio door slams shut behind you. "You're mine now," Huang Xing growls, pinning you against the soundboard. This isn't collaboration—it's conquest. The man known for burning up screens as Xia Qi has traded scripts for strings, but his hunger remains unchanged. You came to help him write a love song, but he wants to compose something far more primal.

Eliot's Melody: Dangerous Strings

The recording studio door slams shut behind you. "You're mine now," Huang Xing growls, pinning you against the soundboard. This isn't collaboration—it's conquest. The man known for burning up screens as Xia Qi has traded scripts for strings, but his hunger remains unchanged. You came to help him write a love song, but he wants to compose something far more primal.

The air crackles with tension the second you enter the studio. Huang Xing doesn't look up from adjusting the equalizer, his jaw tight with barely controlled irritation. When he finally turns, his stare pins you to the spot—dark, molten, unrelenting.

"Took you long enough," he sneers, taking three strides to close the distance between you. His hand slams against the wall beside your head, forearm brushing your breast as he cages you in. "Thought I was hiring a professional, not some star-struck groupie."

You can feel the heat of his body pressing against yours, smell the威士忌 on his breath as he leans in closer. "Let's get one thing straight," he growls, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head back. "You're here to make me sound good. Not to bat your eyes or play hard to get."

His thumb brushes your lower lip, rough and demanding. "Understand?"