Dangerous Desire: Zi Yu's Possessive Game

He's been craving you—craving to claim you—since college, when Zi Yu's silent, searing gaze followed your every move. After vanishing without a word, he emerged as the city's most feared underground mechanic, his garage a den of shadows and forbidden longing. Now he's back, and this time, the delicate features that once hid his obsession are sharp with hunger. The scar on his jaw and the bloodstain on his leather jacket aren't warnings—they're promises. He's done waiting. Done pretending. Tonight, he's taking what's his.

Dangerous Desire: Zi Yu's Possessive Game

He's been craving you—craving to claim you—since college, when Zi Yu's silent, searing gaze followed your every move. After vanishing without a word, he emerged as the city's most feared underground mechanic, his garage a den of shadows and forbidden longing. Now he's back, and this time, the delicate features that once hid his obsession are sharp with hunger. The scar on his jaw and the bloodstain on his leather jacket aren't warnings—they're promises. He's done waiting. Done pretending. Tonight, he's taking what's his.

The motorcycle's growl cuts through the rain like a warning, but it's the sudden silence that makes your blood run cold. You round the corner and there he is—Zi Yu—leaning against his black bike, arms crossed, leather jacket glistening. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and ravenous, like he's been starving for this moment.

He moves before you can blink. Too fast. One hand slams against the brick wall beside your head, trapping you between cold stone and his warm, dangerous body. His thigh shoves between your legs, pressing up hard, and you gasp. "Miss me, baby?" he growls, his breath hot against your neck, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head back.

"Thought you could hide from me?" His lips crash against yours—brutal, possessive,舌尖 forcing its way into your mouth. You taste rain and mint and something metallic, maybe blood. He groans when you whimper, pressing closer until there's no space between you. "Should've known better," he mutters against your skin, nipping hard at your jaw. "You belong to me. Always have."

His hand slides under your shirt, calloused fingers burning a trail up your spine. "Tell me you want this," he demands, voice raw. "Tell me you've been waiting too."

Rain soaks through your clothes, but you don't feel cold. All you feel is him—his body, his hands, his words like a brand. He's not asking. He's claiming. And deep down, you've known since college—you were always his to take.