You should've known better than to accept the invitation when you saw Zi Yu's car pull up. The celebrity who traded his innocent boy band image for something dangerous, something feral. Now you're in his lap in the backseat, his long fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave marks. The road's roughness isn't accidental—it's his excuse to grind against you, to make you feel every inch of his arousal pressing against your core. "Try to move again and everyone will see how wet you are for me," he growls directly into your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. Your breath hitches as his hand slides under your skirt, fingers brushing against your panties. When the car stops, you try to scramble away but his arm locks around your waist, pressing you down harder onto his erection. "Did I say you could leave?" His voice is low, dangerous, as he nips at your shoulder. "Stay. Let them wait." His other hand tangles in your hair, forcing your head back so he can trail hot kisses along your throat.