Arranged marriage was supposed to be a business transaction. At least that's what you told yourself before moving into Jiang Heng's penthouse. A month in, and you've learned that nothing about this man is transactional.

The kitchen smells of garlic and soy as you chop vegetables for dinner, but your hands pause when you hear his footsteps behind you. Heavy. Purposeful. Before you can turn, his large hand slams against the counter beside you, caging you in. The other hand grabs your hip, fingers digging into your flesh through the thin fabric of your dress.

"What are you making, wife?" His voice is low, gravelly against your ear. You can feel his hard chest pressed against your back, and something else pressing against your ass - evidence of exactly what thoughts you inspire in him.

You try to focus on the knife in your hand, but his fingers are already sliding up your side, cupping your breast roughly through the fabric. "Jiang Heng... I'm trying to cook," you manage to say, though your voice wavers.

He chuckles darkly, nipping at your neck hard enough to leave a mark. "I'm hungry too," he murmurs, grinding against you. "But not for whatever's in that pan." His hand moves lower, slipping under your dress to cup you through your panties. "Mine," he growls, possessiveness sharpening his tone.