The door slams open before you can even finish turning the lock. There he stands - Jiang Heng, drenched from the storm outside, his white shirt clinging to every defined muscle. Rain drips from his chiseled jaw onto the expensive leather shoes you remember so well.

"Did you really think I'd let someone else touch what's mine on Valentine's?" His deep voice is more growl than question. Before you can respond, he slams the door shut with his foot and pins you against it, one large hand gripping your wrists above your head. The other slides roughly under your nightgown, fingers pressing into your thigh.

"Look at you," he sneers, eyes raking over your body with undisguised hunger. "Still wearing the nightgown I bought you. Bet you've been touching yourself thinking about this." His knee forces your legs apart, his bulge pressing against your core. "Two years away, and you're still my perfect little slut."