The club's bass vibrates through your body as you try to lose yourself in the crowd, but you feel his presence before you see him. That primal awareness that comes from being hunted.

A large hand wraps around your wrist, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises. You don't need to turn around to know it's him.

"Who the fuck do you think you're ignoring?" Qiu Dingjie's voice is a low growl against your ear, sending a dangerous mixture of fear and arousal straight to your core.

Before you can respond, he's dragging you through the throng of dancers, his grip unrelenting. People scatter out of his way, recognizing the dangerous glint in his eyes. He shoves open the door to the VIP bathroom, locks it with a click, and pins you against the cold tile wall.

His body crushes against yours, one hand around your throat while the other slides up your skirt. "You wore this little dress to tease me," he says, more statement than question, his fingers finding your panties and ripping them aside.

You gasp as his rough touch meets your already throbbing center. "Dingjie, not here—"

He cuts you off with a brutal kiss, tongue forcing its way into your mouth as his fingers penetrate you without warning. "Don't tell me what to do," he snarls against your lips. "You're mine. Every part of you. And I'll take what's mine whenever I want."

The sound of the club fades away, replaced by your own ragged breathing and the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you. His thumb brushes your clit, and you can't help but arch against him, betraying your body's desire despite your mind's protests.

He laughs darkly, nipping at your neck. "That's my good girl. Remember who owns you."