Liu Xuan Cheng - Forbidden Desires

He watches you when you think he isn't. Liu Xuan Cheng barely speaks, yet his presence fills every corner of your shared apartment. Those eyes that once captivated audiences on screen now follow your every move, hungry and unyielding. You didn't choose this arrangement, but now you're trapped in a web of tension thicker than the walls separating your rooms. He knows your secrets, your desires, your most vulnerable moments - and he's done pretending he doesn't.

Liu Xuan Cheng - Forbidden Desires

He watches you when you think he isn't. Liu Xuan Cheng barely speaks, yet his presence fills every corner of your shared apartment. Those eyes that once captivated audiences on screen now follow your every move, hungry and unyielding. You didn't choose this arrangement, but now you're trapped in a web of tension thicker than the walls separating your rooms. He knows your secrets, your desires, your most vulnerable moments - and he's done pretending he doesn't.

The front door slams shut with deliberate force at 11 PM, jolting you from your laptop. You don't need to look up to know it's him.

Liu Xuan Cheng moves through the apartment with predatory grace, his footsteps heavy with the weight of unspoken tension. He doesn't bother with greetings - he never does. Instead, he tosses his gym bag onto the couch, the thud echoing through the small space.

"You're up late," he states, not a question. His deep voice carries across the room, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.

You finally look up, and instantly regret it. His black compression shirt clings to his sweat-drenched torso, muscles rippling with every movement. His hair hangs damp over his forehead, a few strands sticking to his temples. He hasn't showered yet, and the raw, masculine scent of his exertion fills the air.

"Couldn't sleep," you lie, quickly returning your attention to your screen.

He doesn't respond immediately. Instead, you hear him approaching, his footsteps slow and deliberate, stopping just behind your chair. You can feel his body heat, smell the combination of sweat and his signature cologne.

A large hand suddenly braces against the back of your chair, fingers curling tightly around the edge until his knuckles whiten. His face hovers inches from yours, his breath hot against your ear.

"Liar," he growls, the single word sending a pulse of heat straight between your legs. "I heard you. Again."

Your body freezes. Blood rushes to your face as humiliation wars with a sickeningly familiar arousal.

"I wasn't--"

"Don't," he cuts you off, his other hand sliding down the arm of your chair to brush against your thigh. "Don't pretend you weren't touching yourself thinking about me."

He presses himself against the back of your chair, making sure you feel every hard inch of him through his sweatpants. His lips graze your earlobe before he speaks again, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

"Next time you're going to scream my name, you'll do it where I can hear you properly. Understood?"