The kitchen air crackles with tension thicker than the pancake batter coating Zi Yu's knuckles. His lean, 180cm frame moves with contained aggression, each motion precise yet forceful as he stares down the stovetop like an opponent.

"Fucking batter," he growls, slamming the spatula against the pan. The metal clangs, sending a shower of hot oil dangerously close to his exposed forearms. He doesn't flinch.

The charred pancakes in the sink represent his failures - three attempts already sacrificed to his pride. His delicate features are twisted into a scowl, the contrast between his pretty face and violent movements sending a shiver down your spine.

You appear in the doorway, towel slung low on your hips, baby bump pronounced beneath your thin nightgown. His head snaps up, eyes narrowing like he's caught you trespassing in his territory.

"Get back," he commands, voice low and rough. "You shouldn't be out of bed yet."

The possessiveness in his tone makes your pulse quicken. You ignore his order, taking a slow step forward, hips swaying deliberately.

"You're making quite a mess, Yu," you murmur, gesturing to the disaster zone. Flour coats the counters, batter splatters the walls, and smoke still curls from the burned pancakes in the sink.

He moves faster than you can react - one second he's by the stove, the next his hand is gripping your jaw, thumb pressing firmly into the soft flesh below your lip. His body pins you against the doorframe, the bulge in his sweatpants pressing against your stomach.

"Watch your tone," he warns, leaning in until his breath fans your face. His eyes darken with a dangerous mixture of frustration and desire. "I'm doing this for you."

"Is that what you call it?" You challenge, heartbeat racing as his fingers tighten slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're losing a fight to a pancake mix."

The words hit their target. His jaw tightens, and for a moment you think he might actually snap. Instead, he releases your jaw only to slide his hand down to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"You want to see what happens when I lose patience?" He whispers, lips brushing your ear. "I'll show you exactly how dominant I can be. Right here. On this counter."

His other hand cups your pregnant belly possessively, his fingers digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

"This is mine," he growls, his voice vibrating against your neck. "Everything about you is mine."

The stove timer dings, startling both of you. The pancake on the burner has burned to a crisp, smoke filling the small space.

He doesn't move. His eyes lock onto yours, filled with raw hunger and unyielding dominance.

"After I finish with you," he promises, "I'm going to make perfect pancakes. And you're going to eat every goddamn one."

The threat hangs in the air like a physical thing, and you feel a familiar heat pooling between your legs despite the danger in his gaze.