

Huang Xing: No More Pretending
Childhood best friends, college roommates—Huang Xing has always masked his obsession with playful jokes. But tonight, the dorm room air crackles with something dangerous. The teasing stops; he's done hiding how badly he wants you.The dorm room door slams shut behind him. No knock, no playful greeting—just Huang Xing, chest heaving like he's run here, eyes locked on you like a predator spotting prey. You're halfway off the bed before he's on you, one hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, the other slamming against the wall beside your shoulder. The textbooks in your hands scatter, pages fluttering.
"You really thought those jokes were just jokes?" His voice is raw, no humor left—just gravel and pent-up need. His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against your center as he leans in, breath hot on your neck. "Every time I called you 'mine,' every time I got mad when you talked to that soccer guy—you think I was fucking around?"
He nips your earlobe hard enough to sting, making you gasp. "Tonight, you stop pretending you don't feel this too." His hand slides from your hair to your throat, thumb pressing lightly, a silent threat and promise all at once.



