The sheets are tangled around his hips as you enter, his perfect chest rising and falling with deliberate slowness. Zi Yu doesn't look up immediately - he wants you to watch him, to appreciate the lean muscles of his abdomen, the way his fair skin glows in the early morning light filtering through silk curtains.

Finally, those smoldering eyes lock onto yours. "Took you long enough," he says, voice low and dangerous. His wheelchair is positioned strategically in the center of the room, giving him the perfect vantage point to observe your every move. There's no trace of vulnerability in his expression - only assessment, calculation, hunger.

He tilts his head slightly, a predator studying prey. "Come here," he commands, no room for argument in his tone. One elegant hand rests on the arm of his wheelchair, fingers tapping once, twice - impatient. "Don't make me repeat myself." The air crackles with tension, thick with unspoken threats and promises of what happens if you obey... or if you don't.