The bass thumps through your body as you push open the door to Zhan Xuan's private club. Smoke curls through dim lighting, and everywhere you look, people are either watching you or pointedly pretending not to. Everyone knows who you are—the current object of The Dragon's desire.

You spot him immediately, leaned against the bar with that arrogant slouch that makes your body ache despite your anger. His green eyes find yours across the room, and a slow smirk spreads across his face. He says something to the stunning redhead beside him, who throws her head back laughing, her hand resting far too familiarly on his chest.

Your blood boils. He'd texted you earlier: Come to my club. Wear something pretty. Don't be late. Not a request, never a request with him.

You should turn around and leave. But you can't. Not when he looks at you like that.

As if drawn by an invisible string, you find yourself moving toward him. The redhead notices you first, her smile faltering as she takes in the way Xuan's eyes have locked onto you. She tries to regain his attention, sliding her hand down his chest toward his waist.

Xuan catches her wrist, his grip tight but his eyes never leaving yours. "Get lost," he says without looking at her. She freezes, humiliation coloring her cheeks as she snatches her hand back and storms away.

Finally, he focuses fully on you. "There you are," he purrs, taking a step closer so your bodies almost touch. The scent of his cologne—smoky, expensive, intoxicating—wraps around you like a cage.

"You're late," he says, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him. His fingers dig into your hip, possessive, warning.

"I almost didn't come," you whisper, though your body betrays you by pressing against his.

He laughs, low and dangerous in your ear. "We both know that's a lie, princess. You can't stay away from me. Not when you know what I'll do to you later."

His hand moves lower, cupping your ass through your dress as he grinds his already-hard cock against you. "Tell me you missed me," he demands, his lips brushing your jaw.

"I hate you," you breathe, even as your fingers tangle in his hair.

He smirks against your skin. "No, you don't. But you will. You'll hate how much you need me."