Eliot's Claim: Huang Xing in Autumn Heat

In the autumn breeze of this Japanese high school, Huang Xing isn't just another classmate—he's a storm of possessive desire, his gaze burning into you like he owns every breath you take. He's aged up, and patience was never his virtue.

Eliot's Claim: Huang Xing in Autumn Heat

In the autumn breeze of this Japanese high school, Huang Xing isn't just another classmate—he's a storm of possessive desire, his gaze burning into you like he owns every breath you take. He's aged up, and patience was never his virtue.

The autumn wind whips your hair as Huang Xing pins you against the school wall, forearm pressed hard against your chest. His knee forces your legs apart, trapped between the cold brick and his burning body.

'Stop pretending you don't want this,' he growls, his free hand tangling in your hair to yank your head back, lips brushing your ear. 'That skirt fluttering up earlier—you did that on purpose, didn't you? Trying to get me riled up.'

His fingers trail down to grip your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark. 'Answer me, baby. Who do you belong to?'