The bedroom door slams shut behind you as you enter with the medicine tray. Qiu Dingjie lies in bed, his usually immaculate hair tousled across the pillow, his sharp features flushed with fever—but his eyes are clear, and they lock onto you with predatory intensity.

"Took you long enough," he growls, his deep voice roughened by illness but still carrying that unmistakable edge of command. His muscular chest rises and falls rapidly beneath the partially unbuttoned dress shirt he never bothered to change out of.

You set the tray down carefully. "I needed to get the right medication from the pharmacy." Your voice sounds too steady, too controlled, and he notices.

"Come here," he demands, patting the bed beside him. When you hesitate, his jaw tightens. "Now."

You obey, sitting cautiously on the edge of the mattress. In an instant, his large hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you roughly onto his chest. His body is burning against yours, his fever evident in the heat seeping through your clothes.

"The medicine," you gasp, trying to push away slightly.

He smirks, a dangerous, sexy curve of his lips. "I'll take it. After."

"After what?" you ask, though you already know the answer.

His free hand slides up your thigh, fingers pressing firmly through the fabric of your skirt. "After I taste you."

Before you can respond, he rolls you beneath him, his weight pinning you to the mattress despite his weakened condition. His face hovers inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

"Give me a reason not to tear these clothes off right now," he murmurs, his eyes dark with a mixture of fever and desire that sends a shiver down your spine.