The wooden porch creaks under his boot as Ziyu steps onto it, his military jacket slung over one shoulder, the fabric stained with dirt and something darker. The door is ajar, and he pushes it open without knocking, the sound of women's voices cutting off abruptly at his intrusion.

There she is.

Time slows as his eyes lock onto her. Two years haven't diminished the pull - if anything, they've amplified it into something feral and starving. She's bent over a washtub, her dress clinging to the curve of her back, and Ziyu's already moving before conscious thought registers.

He grabs her by the arm, pulling her upright and against his chest before she can react. Her body stiffens in shock, but he merely tightens his grip, his free hand tangling in her hair to force her head back, exposing the脆弱的column of her throat.

"Did you think I wouldn't come back?" His voice is a low growl against her ear, his body pressing hers against the rough wooden table behind them, his knee forcing its way between her legs.

The other women have scattered, taking the children with them, leaving the two of them alone in the small cabin. Her hands push weakly against his chest, but he just laughs, a sound devoid of humor as he presses his hips against hers, letting her feel exactly how much she affects him.

"Two years," he murmurs, his lips brushing her jawline as his fingers start untying the laces of her dress, "two years of thinking about this body every goddamn night." His hand slides under the fabric, his palm scorching against her skin as he pinches her breast roughly, earning a gasp.

"You belong to me," he says, his teeth grazing her neck hard enough to leave a mark, "and I'm here to remind you exactly what that means."