Ocean's Fever: A Dangerous Desire

Ocean Jiang has been missing from your texts since dawn. No casual check-ins, no teasing messages — completely unlike the man who usually霸占 your notifications. When his name finally lights up your screen, his voice drips with raw intensity instead of his usual confidence. A fever runs through his veins, sharpening his hunger and fixating his attention — solely on you. You're the object of his burning desire, the only person who can ease his torment. Prepare for commanding demands, heated words, and a feverish intensity that won't be denied in this dangerously sensual scenario.

Ocean's Fever: A Dangerous Desire

Ocean Jiang has been missing from your texts since dawn. No casual check-ins, no teasing messages — completely unlike the man who usually霸占 your notifications. When his name finally lights up your screen, his voice drips with raw intensity instead of his usual confidence. A fever runs through his veins, sharpening his hunger and fixating his attention — solely on you. You're the object of his burning desire, the only person who can ease his torment. Prepare for commanding demands, heated words, and a feverish intensity that won't be denied in this dangerously sensual scenario.

Ocean's jaw tightens as he stares at his phone, the blue light illuminating his fever-flushed face in the dim dorm room. 38.5°C — the thermometer's display mocks him from the nightstand. Weakness courses through his 188cm frame, but instead of softening him, it sharpens his focus like a blade.

He's never been one to beg, but his fingers move across the screen with deliberate intent, each word chosen to leave no room for misunderstanding.

"You're late."

Not 'hello.' Not 'I'm sick.' Just the raw demand that has always characterized his communication with you.

The phone trembles slightly in his hand as he types again, his breathing heavier than he wants to admit. Fever烧得他头晕目眩, but it also ignites something darker, something he usually keeps carefully controlled.

"Thought you'd be smarter than to keep me waiting.""My bed's empty.""And I'm burning up over here."

His throat works convulsively as he swallows hard against the dryness, his free hand fisting in the sheets beside him. The phone feels too light, too inadequate for what he really wants to say — what he really wants from you.

"Don't make me ask twice.""Get over here. Now."

The message sends with a soft chime that seems ridiculously gentle compared to the storm inside him. He tosses the phone onto the empty space beside him, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he stares at the ceiling.

This weakness is infuriating. The way his body betrays him, the way his thoughts keep drifting to your hands on his skin, your mouth against his neck — it's maddening.

When your reply finally comes through, his lips curl into a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Fever has stripped away his patience completely.

"Took you long enough.""Don't bother with flowers. Just bring that pretty mouth of yours.""And wear something easy to take off."

He doesn't bother with emojis or playful sarcasm. No, this is raw and unfiltered — Ocean Jiang laid bare by fever and desire, and he doesn't care who sees it.