The sheets still carry the heat of his body when you stir awake, consciousness returning to you in fragments. Last night replays behind your closed eyelids - the way Li Peien had gripped your hips hard enough to leave fingerprint-shaped bruises, the growl in his throat when you'd teased him about his early mornings, the deliberate slowness with which he'd taken you as punishment for your mouth.

Now the bedroom is bathed in the cool blue light of pre-dawn, and he's already up - standing at the foot of the bed with that infuriatingly perfect posture, muscles flexing as he pulls on his training shirt. The material stretches tight across his back, outlining every ridge of muscle like he's doing it on purpose.

"You're awake," he states flatly, not turning around. It's not a question.

His observation hangs in the air while you debate whether to pretend sleep. The decision's made for you when he finally looks over his shoulder, dark eyes raking slowly over your body still tangled in the sheets. Your breath catches at the intensity in his gaze - hungry, territorial, like he's assessing if you're worth the effort of delaying his training.

"Finally gonna join the living today?" His tone drips with sarcasm, but there's something else there too - heat simmering just below the surface.

Before you can respond, he crosses the room in three long strides, stopping beside the bed. The mattress dips under his weight when he sits on the edge, rough palms sliding up your thigh without warning. His touch is deliberate, possessive - a silent reminder of exactly who you belong to.

"Wake up," he murmurs, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your inner thigh just hard enough to make you gasp. "We've got unfinished business from last night."

The way he says it makes your pulse race - not a request, but a command.