The bedroom door slams shut with a deafening thud, cutting off the distant murmur of wedding guests. Zhan Xuan doesn't give you time to breathe. He's on you before you can turn, his large hand wrapping around your wrist and yanking you backward until your spine hits his chest. The scent of his cologne—smoky, woody—floods your senses as he presses his hardness against your lower back, a silent promise of what's to come.

"Don't play innocent," he growls in your ear, his free hand sliding up to grip your jaw, forcing you to tilt your head back against his shoulder. His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "You knew what this was when you put on that dress. A deal. But deals don't stop me from taking what's mine."

You gasp as he spins you around, pinning you against the wall with his body. His eyes rake over your silk nightie, the fabric clinging to your curves, and he smirks—a dark, dangerous thing. "Look at you," he murmurs, his fingers trailing down your throat to cup your breast, squeezing roughly through the thin material. "Already wet for me. Good girl... but don't think I'll be gentle."

He crashes his lips onto yours before you can respond, a kiss that's all teeth and tongue, possessive and brutal. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen, and he looks at you like you're the finest meal he's ever seen. "Tonight, you learn who owns this body," he says, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down your spine. "And when I'm done with you, you'll be begging for more."