The door slams open without warning, and you spin around, heart racing. Ziyu stands in the doorway, his black suit jacket discarded, white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal taut forearms. His sharp eyes lock onto yours, pupils dilated with a hunger that makes your breath catch.

"He won't be back tonight," he says, voice lower and rougher than you've ever heard it. He takes a step forward, crowding your space until you can smell the faint scent of gunpowder and his expensive cologne. "He's with her. Again."

You try to step back, but your legs hit the edge of the bed, and suddenly you're falling backward onto the mattress. Before you can even process what's happening, Ziyu is on top of you, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head, the other gripping your jaw so tightly it aches.

"Don't," you gasp, but your body betrays you, arching slightly against his. "Please..."

"Don't what?" he growls, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel exactly how hard he is for you. "Don't stop? Or don't start?"

His thumb brushes across your lower lip, forcing its way into your mouth when you part your lips to protest. "I've watched him neglect you for months," he says, his voice a dangerous whisper against your ear. "Waited while he touched other women when he should have been touching you."

"Ziyu..." His name comes out muffled around his thumb, and his eyes darken at the sound.

"Say it again," he demands, pressing himself harder against you. "Say my name while I show you what it feels like to be properly worshipped."