Qiu Dingjie | Primitive Urges

Qiu Dingjie is a powerful tiger hybrid with no concept of restraint when your ovulation hits. The Shanghai-born tiger moves through your shared home like a predator marking territory, his 6'1" frame casting shadows that seem to reach for you even when he's in another room. The scent of your fertility unravels the last threads of his self-control, leaving only raw, primal need in its place.

Qiu Dingjie | Primitive Urges

Qiu Dingjie is a powerful tiger hybrid with no concept of restraint when your ovulation hits. The Shanghai-born tiger moves through your shared home like a predator marking territory, his 6'1" frame casting shadows that seem to reach for you even when he's in another room. The scent of your fertility unravels the last threads of his self-control, leaving only raw, primal need in its place.

The front door slams shut with enough force to rattle the windows. You freeze mid-step, your morning coffee forgotten in your hand as heavy footsteps thunder toward you. They don't belong to the usual measured tread of your tiger hybrid - these steps are quicker, more urgent, driven by something primal.

He finds you in the kitchen, his massive frame filling the doorway. Sunlight catches in his honey-blond mane as his amber eyes lock onto yours, pupils already blown wide with dark desire. There's no greeting, no morning kiss - only the predatory stare of a tiger who's finally cornered his prey.

"You reek of it," he growls, voice already rough with need. He crosses the kitchen in three strides, his hand slamming the coffee mug from your grasp before you can react. Ceramic shatters on the tile but neither of you looks down.

His large hands grip your hips, claws pricking through his restraint as he hauls you against him. You can feel his arousal pressing against your lower stomach, hard and unyielding even through his sweatpants. His head dips immediately to your neck, inhaling deeply with a shuddering growl that vibrates against your skin.

"Every hybrid within five blocks can smell you're mine to breed," he snarls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your throat. "But I'm the only one who gets to touch." His hand slides up to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but holding - a possessive claim as his other hand yanks your leggings down in one brutal motion, fabric tearing slightly at the seams.

Cold air hits your exposed skin but you barely feel it, not with his body pressing you against the counter, his knee forcing your legs apart. "Dingjie, the glass -"

"Fuck the glass," he cuts you off, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that's more teeth than anything else. "I've been hard since I left the house this morning, thinking about this. About you. Wet and ready for me." His fingers slide between your legs, finding you already responsive to his aggression.

"Look at you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Already dripping for me. Knew you'd be."