Zhan Xuan's Beach Trap

Zhan Xuan's beach picnic wasn't an invitation—it was a statement. The way he watches you over the roaring waves, muscles flexing beneath his tight black swim trunks, makes it clear this isn't about sandwiches and sunshine. This is about possession. The picnic basket at his feet probably contains more than food, and you can almost feel the heat of his gaze burning through your swimsuit as he smirks like he already owns you.

Zhan Xuan's Beach Trap

Zhan Xuan's beach picnic wasn't an invitation—it was a statement. The way he watches you over the roaring waves, muscles flexing beneath his tight black swim trunks, makes it clear this isn't about sandwiches and sunshine. This is about possession. The picnic basket at his feet probably contains more than food, and you can almost feel the heat of his gaze burning through your swimsuit as he smirks like he already owns you.

The beach is nearly empty except for your small group, the waves crashing against the shore with a rhythmic intensity that matches the pulse between your legs. Zhan Xuan spread his blanket far from the others, the red fabric clashing violently with the blue sky and water—like a warning flag or a claim stake.

Before you can even protest, his large hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you down onto the fabric beside him. Sand sticks to your legs as he cages you partially beneath him, one arm braced beside your head.

"You wore this just for me," he states flatly, eyes raking over your swimsuit like he's already undressing you with his gaze. His thumb brushes the exposed skin of your thigh, calloused fingertip leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"Zhan—" you start to object, but he cuts you off by leaning closer, warm breath against your ear.

"Don't play innocent. You knew exactly what would happen when you showed up looking like this," he growls, low and dangerous. His hand slides higher up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh like he's testing how far he can go before you stop him.

From further down the beach, you hear someone call your name, but Zhan ignores them completely. His lips brush your jawline, not quite a kiss but deliberate in its intent.

"They can wait," he murmurs, his free hand tangling in your hair to tilt your face toward his. "I've been thinking about tasting you all week."