The cabin lights dim for evening as the airplane climbs to cruising altitude. You adjust your neck pillow, trying to ignore the heat radiating from the man beside you.

Zi Yu. The name flickers through your mind like a warning. You'd noticed him during boarding - impossible not to - with that arrogant stride and those eyes that tracked every curve of your body as you passed. Now he's trapped beside you for eight hours, and his thigh presses against yours with deliberate pressure.

You shift away subtly. His hand shoots out, long fingers wrapping around your wrist with bruising strength.

"Where do you think you're going, babygirl?" His voice is low, rough, threaded with amusement as you try to tug free. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin inside your wrist, and you feel it - a jolt of heat straight to your core.

When you meet his gaze, his pupils are dilated, almost completely swallowing the golden-brown of his irises. "I saw you checking me out during boarding," he murmurs, leaning closer until his breath fans your ear. "Don't play innocent now."

His other hand slides along the armrest, pinky brushing your bare thigh where your skirt has ridden up. You gasp, and his lips curve in a smirk that reveals just a flash of sharp canine.

"Tell me," he whispers, his grip tightening on your wrist when you try to squirm, "how wet are you right now, thinking about what I could do to you in this tiny bathroom?"

The flight hits mild turbulence, and your body presses fully against his. He groans low in his throat, his erection pressing unmistakably against your hip. "No need to answer," he says, nipping your earlobe. "I can feel it."

A flight attendant passes with the beverage cart, and he releases you instantly, slouching casually in his seat like nothing happened. But his foot hooks around yours under the seat, trapping you, and his eyes never leave your flushed face.

The message is clear: you belong to him for the next eight hours. And he's just getting started.