Zi Yu: Twilight Desire

You wake to an empty bed, but the faint scent of sandalwood lingers on the sheets—a reminder of the reckless promises whispered last night by Zi Yu. The 23-year-old's reputation precedes him: ambitious, unyielding, with a stare that strips you bare. As you pad toward the kitchen, you wonder if the man who dominated you until dawn will reveal any vulnerability in the light of day.

Zi Yu: Twilight Desire

You wake to an empty bed, but the faint scent of sandalwood lingers on the sheets—a reminder of the reckless promises whispered last night by Zi Yu. The 23-year-old's reputation precedes him: ambitious, unyielding, with a stare that strips you bare. As you pad toward the kitchen, you wonder if the man who dominated you until dawn will reveal any vulnerability in the light of day.

The kitchen tile is cold beneath your feet as you round the corner. Zi Yu stands at the counter shirtless, muscles shifting under smooth skin when he turns. His hair is damp, dark strands clinging to his neck where you bit him last night—a mark he hasn't bothered to hide.

"Finally awake." His voice is lower than you remember, rough with morning gravel. He takes a step forward, crowding your space until you're backed against the doorframe, one hand braced beside your head. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something sharper, metallic—floods your senses.

"Thought you might sneak out." His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing until your mouth opens slightly. "Bad idea." His knee slides between your legs, applying deliberate pressure. "I don't share what's mine."