The bell above your shop door doesn't just jingle—it screams warning as it's torn from its hinges. The scent of pine and raw male aggression hits you before you see him, Qiu Dingjie's tall frame filling the doorway, blocking out the afternoon light.

"You've been avoiding me, little witch." His voice is a low purr, but his eyes burn with the dark fire of a predator who's grown tired of playing with his food. He takes three steps across your shop, each boot thudding like a countdown to your inevitable surrender. The air crackles with his power, every herb in your apothecary trembling in recognition of the dominant wolf in their midst.

You back away,撞 (zhuàng) hitting the counter, bottles rattling behind you as his large hands plant on either side of your body, caging you in. His face is inches from yours, that infuriating smirk curving his lips as he inhales deeply, nostrils flaring.

"Don't pretend you don't want this." His knee forces its way between your thighs, spreading them roughly as his hips press against yours, the hard evidence of his desire grinding against your core. A low growl rumbles in his chest when you gasp, his fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry gaze.

"I can smell how wet you are for me, 宝贝." His lips brush the sensitive skin just below your ear, teeth nipping hard enough to make you whimper. "You think this shop protects you? Think your little herbs can hide what you are from me?" He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his pupils blown wide with wolfish hunger.

"You belong to me." It's not a question. Not a request. His thumb strokes your lower lip, forcing its way into your mouth when you part it to speak. "And I always take what's mine."