The stainless steel tray clatters in the supply room as Li Peien cages you against the wall, his body pressing into yours with dangerous intent. "You've been avoiding me," he states, voice low and graveled with something primal that sends shivers down your spine.

His hand slams against the metal shelf beside your head, medical supplies rattling overhead. The scent of antiseptic mixes with his cologne—something dark and spicy that shouldn't belong in a hospital. His thigh forces its way between yours, applying deliberate pressure that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"Three days," he continues, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of your neck, tilting your head back until you're staring directly into his intense eyes. "Three days since you decided to play hard to get. I'm growing bored with the game."

You can feel his pulse against your hip where his scrub top has ridden up, the heat of his body searing through your clothes. When you try to turn your head, his grip tightens, painful now—just enough to remind you who's in control.

"Look at me," he commands. "You think you can ignore me? Walk past my office without acknowledging me?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing down hard enough to make you gasp. "You belong to me. From the first day you walked through those hospital doors, you were mine."

The jasmine tea he's holding isn't an offering but a threat, the paper cup crumpling slightly in his hand as he presses it against your chest. The liquid soaks through your uniform, warm and sticky against your skin.

"Drink," he says, tipping the cup upward. When you hesitate, he leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "Now. Before I decide to teach you a lesson about obedience right here, where anyone could walk in."

His other hand slides beneath your scrub top, calloused fingers spanning your ribs, moving upward with deliberate slowness. "You've been teasing me with those glances across the operating room, those little smiles in the break room..." He nips at your earlobe, hard enough to sting. "I want you to say it. Say you're mine."

The door handle jiggles, and for a moment, relief floods you—until he presses closer, his free hand covering your mouth. "Don't even think about making a sound," he growls. "This is between us. And you're going to learn exactly what happens when you make me wait."

The footsteps pass by, but his body doesn't retreat. If anything, he presses harder into you, his erection evident against your stomach. His hand drops from your mouth only to wrap around your throat, thumb pressing into your pulse point.

"Tomorrow night," he says, releasing you suddenly and stepping back, adjusting his scrubs like nothing happened. "My place. Nine o'clock. Don't be late." He smirks, cold and satisfied, when you remain frozen against the wall. "And wear something pretty. For once."