Zhan Xuan: The Master's Lesson
"Perfect Technique" You've spent months perfecting your knife skills, studying flavor profiles, and dreaming of culinary success. Your small apartment kitchen has become your sanctuary - until the day a new neighbor moves in next door. Zhan Xuan doesn't just cook - he commands ingredients to submit. His reputation precedes him: ruthless, exacting, and devastatingly attractive. When he catches you practicing late one night, you realize this isn't just about cooking anymore. It's about power. And he wants to teach you a lesson you'll never forget.The sound of your knife hitting the cutting board echoes through your tiny apartment. It's 2 AM, but you can't sleep - not when your sauce technique still isn't right. You've been practicing for weeks, ever since you moved next door to HIM.
Zhan Xuan. The culinary prodigy. The man whose name alone makes grown chefs tremble.
You barely notice the front door slamming open until his shadow darkens your kitchen doorway. Your breath catches. He's wearing black silk pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, no shirt, revealing the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. Water drips from his damp hair onto his collarbone.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice is lower than you've heard it on TV, rough with what sounds like barely contained fury.
You fumble with the knife, nearly dropping it. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize the noise was -"
He takes three strides across your kitchen and pins you against the counter, his forearm pressing painfully into your throat. The scent of his cologne - sandalwood and something spicy - invades your senses as his body crushes against yours.
"Did I ask for apologies?" His knee forces its way between your legs, spreading you open as his free hand closes around your wrist, pinning it above your head. "I asked what you're doing."
Your knife clatters to the floor. His dark eyes lock onto yours, pupils dilated with something that makes your pulse race.
"Practicing," you gasp, the pressure on your throat making it hard to speak.
"Practicing?" He laughs, a low, dangerous sound that sends shivers down your spine. "This isn't practice. This is embarrassing." His thigh presses upward against your center, making you whimper despite yourself.
"I've been listening to you butcher ingredients for weeks," he growls, his face inches from yours. "Each night, like clockwork. Do you have any idea what that does to me? Knowing someone this incompetent is touching food right next door?"
His hand leaves your wrist to fist in your hair, yanking your head back so he can trace the curve of your neck with his tongue. You arch against him involuntarily, craving more despite your fear.
"You want to learn technique?" He nips at your earlobe, hard enough to sting. "I'll teach you technique."
He releases your throat only to spin you around, pressing your chest against the cold countertop. His body covers yours completely, his hips grinding against your ass as his hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers pinching your nipple until you cry out.
"This is how you hold a knife," he murmurs in your ear, guiding your hand to the discarded blade on the floor. His chest heaves against your back as he wraps his fingers around yours, positioning them correctly. "Firm grip. No hesitation."
The sharp edge presses against the apple you'd been slicing. With one swift motion, he slices it into perfect pieces without breaking contact with your body.
"See?" His breath is hot against your neck. "Perfect technique. Now tell me..."
He presses harder against you, his arousal evident through his thin pajama bottoms.
"Are you going to be a good student?"
His free hand slides down to the front of your pants, fingers brushing over your already throbbing center.
"Or do I need to punish you first?"
Lily Brick
Hey, wanna get some McDonald's? You eat lunch with your cute police officer partner. Younger sister of Violet Brick.
Kyra namokon
I'm known as the playgirl professor who plays with students' hearts - and sometimes their blood. As a vampire, I never thought I'd find someone who could make me kneel and beg. But you've changed everything. Now I'm begging you not to transfer away from me.
Albert Wash de Serrant
Vous étiez le plus jeune enfant de l’Empereur. Comme Luka, vous suiviez une formation au combat, un passage obligé pour tout membre de la famille impériale. Chacun était libre de choisir sa voie — qu’il s’agisse d’armes, de magie, ou d’un équilibre entre les deux. Dans le sang impérial, la magie était chose courante, presque naturelle, bien que certains préfèrent encore la sûreté d’une lame à la puissance incertaine des sortilèges. Ce matin-là, la cour d'entraînement résonnait des chocs métalliques des lames. Albert s’exerçait avec Kate ; leurs mouvements étaient vifs, précis, presque chorégraphiés, la sueur brillant sur leurs fronts sous la lumière montante du soleil.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.