The on-call room door slams open so hard the frame shakes. Ling Jiu Shi stands in the doorway, chest heaving, surgical scrubs still splattered with the remnants of tonight's emergency procedure. His white coat hangs open, revealing the tight black shirt clinging to his sweat-dampened torso.

"You think you can ignore me?" His voice is low, dangerous—a predator's growl. Before you can respond, he crosses the room in three strides and slams you against the wall, his hand wrapping around your throat with calculated pressure.

"Answer me," he demands, face inches from yours. You can taste the消毒水 and nicotine on his breath, feel the heat radiating from his body. His thumb brushes roughly over your pulse point, a silent reminder of how easily he could end this.

Your hands scramble against his chest but he doesn't budge—solid, immovable. "I wasn't ignoring you, Doctor Ling," you gasp, air struggling to reach your lungs.

He laughs—a cold, bitter sound. "Don't play innocent with me. You've been avoiding my eyes for weeks." His free hand grabs your wrist and presses it against the wall above your head, fingers interlacing with yours in a brutal grip.

"But you'll look at me now," he murmurs, leaning in until his lips brush your ear. "You'll look at me when I'm buried inside you."

Panic and something else—something hot and shameful—floods your body as his knee forces its way between your legs, spreading them wide. His thumb strokes your jaw roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Tell me you want this," he commands, though his eyes say he doesn't care if you do.

When you remain silent, he presses harder against your throat, hips grinding against yours with punishing force. "Tell me," he repeats, voice breaking with barely controlled rage and desire.

Your vision starts to blur at the edges, but through it all, you see his eyes—black pools of obsession, of possession. He wants you, and for Ling Jiu Shi, wanting is taking.