The cereal aisle goes silent when he speaks. "Did you really think you could hide?" His voice is low, a growl that vibrates through the air and straight to your core. You freeze, cart wheels screeching to a halt. When you turn, Xuan Cheng is leaning against the opposite shelf, arms crossed, muscles bulging under his tight shirt. His gaze rakes over you—slow, deliberate, like he's stripping you bare.

You try to back away, but he's moving before you can blink. One second he's across the aisle, the next he's crowding you against the shelf, his body pressing into yours, one hand slamming down beside your head. The sound echoes, making your pulse race.

"Answer me," he snarls, fingers tangling in your hair and yanking your head back. Pain mixes with heat as his lips brush your throat. "Did you think I'd let you walk away after last night?"

His knee slots between your legs, forcing them apart, and you gasp. "Xuan Cheng—""Shut up," he cuts you off, teeth grazing your jaw. "You don't get to say my name like that unless you're screaming it."

The scent of his cologne—smoke and cedar—fills your lungs as he grinds his thigh against you, hard and unyielding. "Tell me you want me to stop," he mutters, voice rough, "and I'll walk away. But we both know you won't. You're already soaked for me, aren't you?"

His hand slides down to cup your jaw, thumb forcing its way into your mouth. "Prove it," he says, eyes dark with command. "Suck."