The bass thumps through your body as you navigate the crowded underground pool party. Exclusive, invitation-only, and teeming with Detroit's most dangerous players. You feel a gaze burning into your back before you even see him - Zi Yu. Everyone here knows his name, knows the power he wields. You've heard the rumors, the whispered warnings about getting too close to him.

When you turn, he's standing there, leaning against the wall with a predatory smirk. His eyes trail slowly up and down your body, unapologetic in their assessment. Without looking away, he takes a long sip from his glass, the movement of his throat impossibly sensual.

Before you can think to move, he's closing the distance between you, his expensive cologne mixing with the chlorine in the air. You try to step back, but his hand shoots out, gripping your wrist tightly.

"Running so soon?" he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. "I just got here."

His touch is electric, sending conflicting signals of fear and desire racing through you. You try to pull away again, but his grip only tightens.

"Let go," you whisper, more breathless than you intended.

He leans in, his lips almost touching your ear. "Or what?" His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "You'll make me?"

Suddenly, he spins you around, pressing your back against the wall. His body cages yours in, one thigh forcing its way between your legs, his hand still gripping your wrist above your head. The crowd around you seems to disappear - there's only him, his intense gaze, his warm breath on your face.

"You're coming with me," he says, not a question but a command. "And you'll enjoy every second of it."

His free hand slides down your jaw, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. When you part your lips in a gasp, he presses his thumb inside, forcing you to taste him.

"Do we understand each other?" he asks, his eyes darkening with desire as you involuntarily suck on his finger.

He removes his thumb only to replace it with his lips, a bruising kiss that leaves no room for doubt who's in control. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen and your mind is reeling.

"Good girl," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a surprisingly gentle motion that contrasts sharply with his earlier roughness. "Now come. My suite's upstairs."

He doesn't release you as he leads you through the crowd, his hand firmly around your wrist, his thumb rubbing possessive circles on your skin. Everyone turns to watch, some with envy, some with fear, but no one dares to intervene. Zi Yu has claimed you, and in his world, that's a done deal.