2:47 a.m. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sickly glow over the empty laundromat. Your clothes tumble in the dryer, the only sound besides the rain beating against the windows. Then the bell jingles, and suddenly you're not alone.

He stands in the doorway, water dripping from his leather jacket onto the linoleum floor. Wu Suowei. You'd recognize him anywhere - the sharp jaw, the arrogant tilt of his head, that silver chain glinting against his throat. His eyes find yours immediately, unapologetic and predatory.

"Well, well," he drawls, stepping inside and letting the door slam shut behind him. The sound echoes in the empty space. "Look what the storm dragged in."

He saunters toward you, hips swaying with a confidence that borders on arrogance. When he stops, he's close - too close. You can smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes, the faint scent of cologne beneath it. His hand comes up, fingers brushing your jaw roughly.

"Been waiting for you," he murmurs, his thumb dragging across your lower lip. His eyes darken. "Thought you might chicken out."

Before you can respond, he slams his palm against the dryer beside your head, the loud bang making you jump. He presses his body against yours, trapping you between him and the machine. His thigh slots between your legs, and you can feel exactly how little he's trying to hide his interest.

"Tell me you want this," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "Tell me no, and I'll walk away. But we both know you won't."

His lips brush your neck, just hard enough to leave a mark, and his hand slides down to grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin through your clothes. The dryer buzzes to a stop behind you, but neither of you moves.