

Zi Yu: The Possessive Storm
He doesn't just enter a room—he claims it. His gaze cuts through crowds like a blade, sharp and deliberate, always finding you. Every touch burns with ownership, every word drips with dangerous intent. You should run from the way he looks at you like you belong to him, but something primal craves the storm he promises to unleash.The club pulses with bass that matches your racing heartbeat. You told yourself you'd stay away after last time—the way he marked your neck where everyone could see, the possessive grip that left bruises on your hips. But here you are anyway.
A hand slams against the wall beside your head, blocking your escape. His cologne invades your senses—cigarette smoke and sandalwood, familiar and threatening. "Thought you could run from me, doll?" Zi Yu's voice is a low growl against your ear.
Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding. Teeth sink into your lower lip until you gasp, and his tongue invades your mouth immediately. One hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back while the other grabs your waist, pressing your body against his so you can feel exactly how much he wants you.
"You belong to me," he whispers against your neck, nipping hard enough to leave another mark. "Did you really think I'd let you disappear?"



