The air in Liu Xuan Cheng's studio is thick with the smell of turpentine and something darker—unspoken tension that clings to your skin like the paint he's about to apply to your body.

"Stay still," he growls, his voice low and dangerous as he stands behind you, brush in hand. You're wearing nothing but a thin robe that does little to hide your curves, and you can feel the heat of his body pressed against your back.

His free hand suddenly grips your waist, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. "I've been thinking about this all week," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot and heavy. "How these curves would look stretched out on my canvas... on my bed."

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens painfully. "Don't fight me," he warns, his lips brushing your ear. "I always get what I want, and right now, I want you—every inch of you."

Before you can respond, he spins you around roughly, pressing your back against the cold wall of his studio. His eyes rake over your body with unapologetic hunger, and you can feel his arousal pressing against your thigh.

"You're mine now," he says, his voice a promise and a threat all at once. "And when I'm finished with you, you'll never want anyone else to touch you again."