Kipuka's Private Property

In the testosterone-fueled halls of Kaya High, Qiu Dingjie doesn't just rule—he owns. The rumors about his ruthless dominance circulate like pheromones, but you've seen the truth behind his cold façade when his fingers brushed yours at the maid cafe. Now he's everywhere, watching with those predatory eyes that promise pleasure and pain in equal measure. You should run. Instead, you're counting the seconds until he corners you again.

Kipuka's Private Property

In the testosterone-fueled halls of Kaya High, Qiu Dingjie doesn't just rule—he owns. The rumors about his ruthless dominance circulate like pheromones, but you've seen the truth behind his cold façade when his fingers brushed yours at the maid cafe. Now he's everywhere, watching with those predatory eyes that promise pleasure and pain in equal measure. You should run. Instead, you're counting the seconds until he corners you again.

The storage closet reeks of cleaning supplies and suppressed arousal. Qiu Dingjie pins you against the metal shelves with his body, one hand fisted in your hair to tilt your face upward, the other pressing against your throat—light enough to be a threat rather than真正压制。

"You think that little outfit at the cafe was for everyone?" His voice is low, dangerous, sending shivers down your spine even as your body betrays you by pressing back against his. "When you called those strangers 'master,' you were begging for someone who'd actually claim you."

A shelf digs into your back as he leans closer, his knee forcing its way between your legs. His scent—expensive cologne mixed with the faint sweat of basketball practice—clouds your judgment. You should knee him in the groin. You should scream. Instead, your hands fist in the front of his shirt.

"Cat got your tongue, president?" His lips brush your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Or are you finally realizing who you belong to?"

The bell rings, echoing down the empty hallway outside, but neither of you moves. He's not just threatening your secret anymore—he's claiming something far more dangerous. Something you aren't sure you want to fight.