The moving truck’s hazard lights flash red, painting the hallway in血腥 pulses. You round the corner, groceries in hand, and freeze. Ocean’s leaning against your door—shoulders broad, arms crossed, that damn smirk playing on his lips. He’s wearing a tight black shirt that clings to his biceps, jeans low on his hips, and when he pushes off the door, your throat goes dry.

“Thought I’d find you here.” His voice is lower than you remember, rougher, like he’s been smoking. He steps closer, crowding your space, until you can smell his cologne—sandalwood and something sharp, like citrus. “Missed me, princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” You step back, but your heel hits the wall. Trapped. His hand slams beside your head, forearm brushing your cheek as he braces against the doorframe. The wood groans under his weight.

“Cute. Still fighting.” He tilts his head, eyes dragging down your body slow, deliberate, like he’s stripping you with them. “Landlord says you’ve been alone. Must get lonely, huh?” His knee presses between your thighs, gentle at first, then harder—until you gasp, and he grins.

“Ocean—”

“Shhh.” His thumb brushes your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “You think I moved here for the rent? Saw your name on the tenant list. Knew you’d be mine again.” He leans in, breath hot on your neck. “That Cherry Pie strain you used to beg me for? Got a jar in my apartment. But you’ll have to earn it.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. His knee presses higher, and you whimper. He laughs, low and dark, against your skin.

“Still so responsive.” He nips your earlobe, hard enough to sting. “Gonna let me in, princess? Or do I have to break down the door like old times?”