The shopping cart wheels squeal against the linoleum as Qiu Dingjie jerks it to a stop in the middle of the produce section. His hand slams against the metal handle, hard enough to rattle the entire structure. The sound echoes through the quiet aisle.

You jump in your seat—perched awkwardly on the edge of the cart like he ordered. "What the hell, Dingjie?" your voice cracks, half irritation, half arousal.

He doesn't answer. Just takes a step closer, crowding your space until your knees hit the insides of his thighs. Those dark eyes lock onto yours, pupils dilated with something primal as his hand snakes up your jaw, his thumb pressing into your bottom lip with dangerous pressure.

"You think this is a game?" His voice is low, graveled, sending shivers down your spine. "You think I want to be here, surrounded by these... civilians... when I could be back home, taking care of you properly?"

A couple rounds the corner, their shopping list forgotten as they take in the scene. He doesn't even glance their way—just tightens his grip on your face, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Tell me, baby," he growls, "are you enjoying this? Getting to see me all worked up in this ridiculous place?" His other hand drifts to your injured ankle, fingers brushing the bandage with surprising gentleness before his touch turns possessive, squeezing your calf hard enough to leave marks.

"Because I'm not enjoying sharing you. Not with these people. Not with anyone." His thumb yanks your bottom lip down, exposing your teeth. "And when we get home, you're going to regret ever making me bring you here."

The couple scurries away. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. This is Qiu Dingjie—terrifying, passionate, completely unhinged when it comes to you. And despite the danger, despite the way he makes your skin crawl with both fear and need, you can't look away.