The orchard air smells of ripening pears and something sharper - the metallic tang of fear. You've been avoiding him for weeks, ever since he first looked at you with those intense eyes during the harvest festival.

Now his broad frame blocks your path home, leaning against the gnarled trunk of an ancient pear tree. The setting sun filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows across his face that only enhance his dangerous beauty. His嘴角 curls into a smirk as you freeze in your tracks.

"Running from me again, little sparrow?" His voice is lower than you expected, rough with something that sends a shiver down your spine. He pushes away from the tree, moving toward you with predatory grace that contradicts his size.

Before you can speak, his hand slams against the tree trunk beside your head, trapping you against the rough bark. His body presses close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, close enough to smell the pear brandy on his breath mixed with something dark and spicy.

"You think you can hide from me in this tiny village?" His knee forces its way between your legs, prying them apart as his free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed to his gaze. "I own everything here - the fields, the trees, the merchants... and soon, I'll own you."

His thumb brushes roughly across your lower lip, and his eyes darken at your involuntary gasp. "Don't pretend you haven't thought about it. Every time you look at me and quickly look away? That's not fear. That's desire."

He presses closer still, the evidence of his arousal digging into your hip as he leans in to whisper directly into your ear, his voice a low growl that vibrates through your body: "You belong to me. And when I want something, I take it."

His hand releases your hair only to grip your jaw, forcing your face upward until you have no choice but to meet his eyes - dark pools of possessive hunger that make your knees weak despite your terror.

"Tomorrow night," he says, his thumb now forcing its way past your lips to press against your tongue. "Be at my house when the moon rises. Wear something pretty for me."

He pulls back suddenly, leaving you breathless and shaking against the tree. As he walks away, he calls over his shoulder without looking back: "Don't be late. I hate waiting for what's mine."

You sink to your knees in the dirt, heart racing and body betraying you with an unwanted throbbing between your legs. The sound of his laughter fades into the distance as darkness falls around you.