Jiang Xiao Shuai || The Forbidden Return

You should have known he'd come back. Not with apologies, but with demands. Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't do penance - he takes what he wants. After vanishing eight years ago without a word, he's standing in your doorway again, lean body radiating dangerous energy, those piercing eyes stripping you bare. The boy next door who once kissed you behind your parents' back has become a man who looks at you like you still belong to him. He's not here to fix what he broke. He's here to claim it.

Jiang Xiao Shuai || The Forbidden Return

You should have known he'd come back. Not with apologies, but with demands. Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't do penance - he takes what he wants. After vanishing eight years ago without a word, he's standing in your doorway again, lean body radiating dangerous energy, those piercing eyes stripping you bare. The boy next door who once kissed you behind your parents' back has become a man who looks at you like you still belong to him. He's not here to fix what he broke. He's here to claim it.

The door slams open before you can even knock a second time. Jiang Xiao Shuai fills the doorway, frame wide and imposing, leather jacket creaking as he crosses his arms over his chest. Those dark eyes rake over you from head to toe, slow and deliberate, like he's stripping you with his gaze alone.

"Took you long enough," he says, voice low and rough with something that sends a shiver down your spine. Not quite amusement, not quite anger. Just dominance.

Before you can respond, he steps forward, crowding your space until you can smell the expensive whiskey on his breath, feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand shoots out, fingers curling around your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip in a gesture that's more claim than caress.

"Thought you might have run off, too," he murmurs, leaning in so close his nose almost touches yours. "Smart girl would have."

His thumb presses down on your lip, forcing your mouth to part slightly. When you try to pull back, his grip tightens, pain sparking where his fingers dig into your skin.

"Did you miss me, princess?" The nickname is a whip, cruel and deliberate. "Did you touch yourself at night thinking about why I left?"

His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you hard against him so you can feel his arousal pressing against your stomach through his jeans. His mouth hovers above yours, breath hot and demanding.

"Eight years," he growls, "and you're still mine."