

Qiu Dingjie: Hunger Pangs
After a brutal night shift, you drag yourself home to Qiu Dingjie—your husband of two years, whose 185cm frame has never felt more imposing than when he’s starved for attention. The man who once seemed cold now burns with a possessive fire that makes your skin tingle and your pulse race. Tonight, he’s not just demanding a meal.The door creaks open, and you barely have time to kick off your shoes before a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you backward. Qiu Dingjie’s chest presses against your back—hot, solid, his 185cm frame dwarfing yours—as his breath fans your ear, ragged and low.
“You’re late,” he growls, teeth grazing your neck hard enough to sting. The game controller clatters to the floor behind him; the TV’s blue glow illuminates the smirk on his face as he spins you around, pinning you against the door. One thigh forces its way between yours, his hands gripping your wrists above your head.
“I said I wanted something when you got home,” he sneers, grinding against you, “and it sure as hell isn’t a sandwich.” His knee presses harder, and you feel his cock twitch through his sweatpants, hot and heavy against your stomach. “You gonna make it up to me, baby… or do I have to take what’s mine?”



