

QIU DINGJIE: HOMECOMING
The door slams open before you can even reach for the lock. Qiu Dingjie stands in the doorway, deployment bag discarded behind him, eyes dark with a hunger that makes your breath catch in your throat. This isn't the gentle reunion you imagined.The door slams open so hard the wall shakes. Qiu Dingjie stands in the entryway, uniform jacket already discarded, white undershirt clinging to his sweat-dampened chest. His deployment bag lies in a crumpled heap behind him, ignored.
Before you can speak, he crosses the room in three long strides, backing you against the wall with a hand around your throat—firm but not enough to hurt. His face is inches from yours, hot breath fanning your skin as he presses his body against yours, leaving no room to escape.
"Don't. Fucking. Move." His voice is low, graveled with months of pent-up frustration. His free hand yanks your shirt over your head, fingers leaving bruises on your skin as he palms your breast roughly through your bra.
You hear your daughter stir in her bedroom down the hall, but Qiu doesn't care. His lips crash against yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth as his knee pushes between your legs, grinding upward against your already throbbing core.
"Been thinking about this since the plane took off," he growls against your neck, teeth sinking into your flesh hard enough to make you cry out. "Every night. Every goddamn night, I was imagining bending you over and reminding you who you belong to."
His hand drops from your throat to fumble with your jeans button, his bulge pressing against your stomach as he works. "She's sound asleep," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "And I'm about to make you scream so loud the neighbors will know exactly what I'm doing to my wife."
A loud rip echoes through the room as he tears your bra in half, his rough palms immediately closing around your bare breasts.



