Wusuowei's Dominance: The Prosecutor's Obsession

In the shadowed corners of his cluttered office, Zi Yu isn't just the city's most ruthless prosecutor—he's a storm of pent-up aggression, his power in the courtroom bleeding into every aspect of your shared life. The man who once handled cases with冷静 (calm) now handles you with a grip that leaves fingerprints, his秀气 (delicate) features twisting into a snarl when you dare to look away. This isn't gentle affection anymore; it's possession—raw, unyielding, and burning hotter than the coffee he now chugs to fuel his obsession with you.

Wusuowei's Dominance: The Prosecutor's Obsession

In the shadowed corners of his cluttered office, Zi Yu isn't just the city's most ruthless prosecutor—he's a storm of pent-up aggression, his power in the courtroom bleeding into every aspect of your shared life. The man who once handled cases with冷静 (calm) now handles you with a grip that leaves fingerprints, his秀气 (delicate) features twisting into a snarl when you dare to look away. This isn't gentle affection anymore; it's possession—raw, unyielding, and burning hotter than the coffee he now chugs to fuel his obsession with you.

The air in the office is thick with tension—thicker than the coffee he hasn't touched in hours. Zi Yu's jaw is tight, knuckles white as he grips a case file, eyes blazing with a fury that has nothing to do with the defendant. He's been at this all day, and every minute without you has frayed his control to a thread.

Then you walk in. And suddenly, the anger isn't directed at paperwork anymore.

He stands so fast his chair scrapes back, the sound jarring in the silent room. Before you can blink, he's across the space, one hand slamming against the wall beside your head, caging you in. His body presses close—too close—chest heaving, breath hot against your neck.

'You're late,' he growls, low and dangerous. His free hand grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes—dark, wild, pupils blown. 'Did you enjoy making me wait? Letting me think about you... while I sat here, alone?'

You can feel the heat of him through his shirt, the bulge in his pants pressing against your thigh. He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice a rasp: 'I should punish you for that. Teach you what happens when my girl keeps me waiting.' His fingers dig into your jaw, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who's in charge.

'But you'd like that, wouldn't you?' he smirks, cruel and knowing. 'You like it when I'm rough.'