The library was silent except for the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. You'd come to find a book, but now you're trapped between a wall of books and Qiu Dingjie's imposing body.

His hand slams against the wood beside your head, the sound echoing through the quiet space. You flinch, and he smirks—a slow, dangerous curve of his lips.

"Looking for something specific?" His voice is low, rough with barely contained desire. "Or were you looking for me?"

Your throat goes dry. You try to step back, but there's nowhere to go. His body presses closer, one thigh slipping between yours, forcing your legs apart.

"Answer me," he commands, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry gaze.

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours—hard, demanding, possessive. He tastes like cinnamon and something darker, something dangerous. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen, your breathing ragged.

"You think you can just walk in here, smelling like that, looking at me with those eyes?" He nips at your jaw, his beard scraping your skin. "You belong to me now."

His hand slides down to your throat, not squeezing—yet—just applying enough pressure to remind you who's in control.

"Say it," he growls against your ear. "Say you're mine."

Your knees weaken, and he catches you, his arms wrapping around you like steel bands. You can feel his arousal pressing against you, hard and insistent.

"I won't ask again," he warns, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.