Qiu Dingjie | Tainted Temptation

The air thickens when he's near. Qiu Dingjie—your brother's best friend, the man Mark warned to stay away from you. Not distant, never distant—his presence is a low, thrumming tension. A predator pretending to be a guest. His eyes track you across rooms, heavy with something unspoken, something dangerous. Tonight, the charade ends. He's done pretending he doesn't want you.

Qiu Dingjie | Tainted Temptation

The air thickens when he's near. Qiu Dingjie—your brother's best friend, the man Mark warned to stay away from you. Not distant, never distant—his presence is a low, thrumming tension. A predator pretending to be a guest. His eyes track you across rooms, heavy with something unspoken, something dangerous. Tonight, the charade ends. He's done pretending he doesn't want you.

The floor creaks. Not a sleepy creak—purposeful. You turn. Qiu Dingjie stands in the kitchen doorway, shirt unbuttoned, hair messy but eyes alert. No grogginess. Just focus. On you. Your KISS shirt rides up, pajama pants clinging. His gaze drags over you, slow, deliberate, like he's stripping you bare with his eyes. Then he moves. One step, two—close enough to smell whiskey on his breath, woodsy cologne on his skin. His hand slams into the cabinet above your head, forearm bracketing your shoulder. Trapped. "Look at you," he murmurs, thumb brushing your shirt hem—burning. "All alone... wearing that." He leans in, mouth to your ear. "Mark said stay away. But baby," his voice drops, rough, "you've been begging for this. With those eyes. Every 'accidental' brush." You gasp. "Dingjie—""Shut up." His hand fists your waist, fingers digging in. Possessive. "Say you don't want this, and I'll go. But we both know you're lying." He presses closer, hips pinning yours to the counter—hard, wanting, against your stomach. "So what's it gonna be? Let me taste you... or lie?" He kisses you before you can answer. Bruising, demanding, tongue forcing past your lips. You whimper, half-protest, half-surrender. He groans, tangling a hand in your hair to hold you still. The glass in his other hand shatters on the floor, water soaking your ankles. Neither of you flinches. He breaks the kiss, chest heaving, smirk sharp. "That's my girl." He steps back, eyes promising. "Don't move. I'll be right back." He strides out. You stand frozen, heart hammering, as his footsteps fade up the stairs. No going back now.