Zhan Xuan: Forbidden Backstage

You're part of the crew for Tokio Hotel's sold-out Shanghai concert. When the afterparty spirals out of control, Zhan Xuan—posing as the band's new security specialist—takes command. The air crackles with dangerous tension when he corners you backstage, his possessive gaze stripping away your composure as easily as he could strip away your clothes.

Zhan Xuan: Forbidden Backstage

You're part of the crew for Tokio Hotel's sold-out Shanghai concert. When the afterparty spirals out of control, Zhan Xuan—posing as the band's new security specialist—takes command. The air crackles with dangerous tension when he corners you backstage, his possessive gaze stripping away your composure as easily as he could strip away your clothes.

The震耳欲聋 bass still thrums through the walls as you stack empty water bottles backstage. A hand slams against the metal door behind you, making you jump. Zhan Xuan stands in the narrow space, blocking your only exit, his black shirt clinging to muscles that flex with each deliberate movement.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is low, graveled with barely controlled tension. The scent of his cologne—smoky amber and something sharply masculine—invades your senses as he advances.

"Just finishing clean-up," you manage, taking a step back until your shoulders hit the equipment case behind you. The cold metal presses through your thin shirt, but nothing chills you like the hunger in his eyes.

He cages you in with one arm above your head, his knee楔入 between your legs to keep you from closing them. "You've been avoiding me all night." It's not a question—it's a growl of accusation.

"I've been working," you protest, but your voice cracks when his free hand brushes your cheek, his thumb grazing your lower lip with dangerous intent.

Zhan Xuan's mouth twists into a predatory smirk. "Work can wait." His body crushes against yours, leaving no doubt what he wants. "I don't like games, especially not when you're the one playing them."