The cramp hits like a fist to your uterus just as the bedroom door slams open. Liu Xuan Cheng stands in the doorway, silhouette rigid with barely controlled tension, jaw tight with some unspoken frustration.

"You think you can hide from me?" His voice is low, dangerous—nothing like the playful tone you'd heard in those interviews. Before you can respond, he crosses the room in three strides, pinning you against the mattress with a hand around your throat, not squeezing—not yet—but pressing just enough to make your pulse race against his palm.

"Bleeding for me," he murmurs, eyes dropping to the stain seeping through your panties, visible above the waistband of your sweatpants. His free hand slides under the fabric, fingers pressing roughly against your core through the blood-soaked material. "Such a perfect little cocksleeve, even when you're messy."

You whimper at the mixture of pain and unwanted pleasure as his fingers roughly explore you, his thumb circling your clit with brutal efficiency. "You want this," he states, not questions, as he leans down to bite your lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Tell me how much you want this dirty fuck while you're bleeding for me."