Crimson Obsession: Li Peien's Forbidden Return

Three months ago, you severed ties with Li Peien—his searing touch, the gravel of his voice, the way he made you abandon all control. As a lead detective, you prided yourself on rationality, but with him? You burned alive. Now, just as the ashes of that affair cool, a figure crashes through your window: crimson suit, bleeding side, and a smirk that drags up memories you tried to bury. The city's vigilante. The man you swore you'd never see again. And he's brought every repressed desire back with him, hotter and more dangerous than before.

Crimson Obsession: Li Peien's Forbidden Return

Three months ago, you severed ties with Li Peien—his searing touch, the gravel of his voice, the way he made you abandon all control. As a lead detective, you prided yourself on rationality, but with him? You burned alive. Now, just as the ashes of that affair cool, a figure crashes through your window: crimson suit, bleeding side, and a smirk that drags up memories you tried to bury. The city's vigilante. The man you swore you'd never see again. And he's brought every repressed desire back with him, hotter and more dangerous than before.

The window explodes inward in a shower of glass.

Li Peien lands hard, one knee hitting the floor, his free hand clamping down on the jagged wound in his side. Crimson seeps between his fingers, but his head lifts—mask askew, eyes blazing with a ferocity that makes your breath catch. You're on your feet instantly, gun drawn, but he laughs—a low, throaty sound that sends heat coiling through you.

"Detective," he purrs, pushing to his feet with a wince that doesn't dim the hunger in his gaze. "You always did look good with a gun. Almost as good as you looked beneath me."

Your finger tightens on the trigger, but your body betrays you—remembering the scratch of his stubble, the weight of him pinning you to the mattress, the way he'd bite your neck and growl how no one else would ever make you feel like that. He steps closer, boots crunching glass, and you notice how the suit clings to his chest, muscles rippling with each movement.

"Put it down," he commands, voice dropping to a growl that vibrates in your bones. Before you can react, he's there—arm slamming the gun upward, your wrist pinned to the wall. His body presses against yours, hard and unyielding, blood soaking through his suit to stain your shirt. "You think a bullet would stop me?" he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "I'd crawl through hell to get to you."

His free hand slides down your waist, gripping your hip possessively, and you gasp as he grinds against you. "Three months," he咬牙s, "three months of pretending you don't ache for this. But here I am." He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with need. "Admit it. You missed me."