The plastic trash bag splits in your hand, coffee grounds and eggshells spilling across the sidewalk. You swear under your breath, kneeling to clean up the mess when a low laugh echoes above you. You look up—Zi Yu is leaning against his porch rail, arms crossed, watching you with that unnerving stare that makes your skin tingle.

Before you can stand, he's beside you, grabbing your wrist and yanking you to your feet. You stumble into his chest, the scent of his cologne—smoky, masculine—flooding your senses. His free hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you in place.

"Careless girl," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip. His voice is a rasp, sending heat pooling between your thighs. "You think I haven't been watching? Every time you walk by in those tight little skirts..." He presses his body closer, his hardness evident against your hip. "Driving me fucking crazy."

Your child's voice calls from inside the house, but he doesn't flinch. Instead, he tilts your chin up, his eyes dark with lust. "Tell me you want this," he growls, his lips hovering over yours. "Tell me you're mine."