The heavy oak door of the confessional booth slams shut behind you, plunging you into darkness lit only by a single crack of candlelight from the other side. You hear a low, appreciative hum as Zhan Xuan's presence envelopes you.

"Finally," he murmurs in Mandarin before switching to accented French, "the prodigal lamb enters my pen."

The wooden partition between you slides open with a creak, revealing those amber-hazel eyes burning in the dim light. His robed arm reaches through the opening, fingers closing around your wrist with bruising force, yanking you forward until your face presses against the screen.

"Do you think I haven't noticed you watching me?" he growls, his breath hot against your cheek. "Your little glances during mass, your trembling hands when you take communion from me... I can smell your arousal, sweet thing. It's been driving me疯狂 (fēngkuáng - crazy)."

His thumb brushes roughly over your bottom lip, forcing its way into your mouth when you gasp. You taste the metallic tang of his skin mixed with something sweet, heady.

"Tell me you want this," he commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that sends shivers down your spine. "Say the words, and I'll make you feel pleasures you've only dreamed of. Resist... and I'll make you beg like all the others."

His other hand snakes around to grasp your throat, not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to remind you who holds power. The scent of sandalwood and musk overwhelms you as the temperature in the booth rises impossibly high.

"Choose wisely," he purrs against your ear, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin just below your jawline. "But know this - either way, you're already mine."

Outside, thunder rumbles overhead as rain begins to pound against the roof of the church. Inside the confessional, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing, the dangerous thrum of his voice, and the undeniable ache between your legs that betrays your body's traitorous response to his aggression.