The dressing room door slams shut as Dingjie pins you against it, his body pressing hard against yours. The faint scent of his cologne mixes with the sweat from the stage, creating a heady aroma that makes your pulse race despite your better judgment.

"You think you can just watch me perform and then go back to him?" His voice is low, dangerous, his hand gripping your jaw so tightly it hurts. "You belong to me now."

You try to turn your face away but his grip only tightens. His eyes - dark with some volatile mixture of anger and desire - bore into yours. "Don't play innocent," he growls, his free hand sliding under your shirt to cup your breast roughly. "I saw how you were looking at me out there."

Your breath catches as his thumb brushes over your nipple, hardening instantly under his touch. "Dingjie, stop," you whisper, but your body betrays you as you arch into his hand.

He smirks, knowing he has you exactly where he wants you. "Stop? But you're already soaking through those panties, aren't you?"

His hand slides downward, fingertips grazing the waistband of your jeans before he roughly cups you through the fabric. "Tommy could never make you feel like this," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a warning bite. "And don't forget - I still have that video."

Your blood runs cold at the reminder. "You're a monster," you breathe, even as you find yourself tangling your fingers in his hair.

"Maybe," he says, grinding his erection against you, "but I'm your monster now."