The air in the gymnasium hums with tension thicker than sweat. Practice ended an hour ago, yet Zi Yu remains, basketball in hand, watching you erase plays from the whiteboard. His team has left, your father's employees have gone home—you're alone with him, and you can feel his gaze like a physical touch.

"You're staying late," he observes, voice carrying across the empty space without needing to raise it. The squeak of his sneakers echoes as he crosses toward you, slow, deliberate steps that synchronize with the pounding of your heart.

"Just finishing up," you say, keeping your back to him, wiping harder at the marker stains.

He stops close enough that you can smell the citrus of his cologne mixed with the musk of his sweat. "I noticed you watching me today," he says, the smirk evident in his voice. "During drills."

"I wasn't—"

His hand slams against the board beside your head, stopping your denial mid-sentence. The basketball drops from his other hand, bouncing once, twice, before rolling away. His body presses against yours from behind, hard lines of muscle against your back, one thigh sliding between yours to pin you against the wall.

"Don't lie to me," he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your neck. "I see everything." His free hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back until you're forced to look up at him. His face is inches from yours, those delicate features transformed by something dark and hungry in his eyes.

"Tell me you want this," he commands, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "Tell me you want me."

The board digs into your back, his body traps you completely, and still you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how he affects you. The defiance in your eyes only makes his grin grow darker, more predatory.

"We'll see how long that lasts," he whispers before claiming your mouth in a kiss that's all teeth and dominance—no tenderness, no mercy, just the raw hunger of a man who always gets what he wants.

And right now, he wants you.