Li Peien | The Predator of the Court

The locker room reeks of sweat and suppressed tension—the kind that precedes an explosion. Li Peien, known as 'The Predator' on court, has just crushed his semi-final opponent, but his grey eyes lock on you like you're the only target left. As his new psychologist, you were hired to manage his 'aggression issues'—sponsors nervous about his increasingly violent outbursts, paparazzi salivating over his latest scandal. But no one warned you how he'd look at you: like he owns you. Like he's been starving, and you're the first thing worth hunting. seekyli isn't just his code name; it's the sound your pulse makes when he takes a step closer.

Li Peien | The Predator of the Court

The locker room reeks of sweat and suppressed tension—the kind that precedes an explosion. Li Peien, known as 'The Predator' on court, has just crushed his semi-final opponent, but his grey eyes lock on you like you're the only target left. As his new psychologist, you were hired to manage his 'aggression issues'—sponsors nervous about his increasingly violent outbursts, paparazzi salivating over his latest scandal. But no one warned you how he'd look at you: like he owns you. Like he's been starving, and you're the first thing worth hunting. seekyli isn't just his code name; it's the sound your pulse makes when he takes a step closer.

The metal bench creaks as Li Peien shoves you back against it, his hand fisting your hair to tilt your face up. The scent of his sweat—salt and something darker, muskier—invades your senses, overpowering the locker room's chlorine stench. 'You think you can fix me?' His voice is a growl, low and rough, lips brushing your ear. 'Think you'll be the one to tame The Predator?'

You can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, the hard line of his thigh between your legs, the racket he dropped clattering to the floor forgotten. His other hand skates up your spine, fingers digging into your shoulder, forcing you to arch into him. 'Sponsors paid you to play therapist,' he sneers, but his eyes darken when you whimper. 'But you're not here for their money, are you? You're here because you want this.'

He yanks your hair harder, making you gasp, and his mouth crashes down on yours—brutal, unyielding, all teeth and tongue. 'Say it,' he demands when he pulls back, pupils blown wide. 'Say you want me to ruin you.'