The kitchen air thickens with tension as much as cinnamon. Through the window, you watch Xiao Shuai finally abandon his work in the fields as dark storm clouds吞没 the Badlands horizon. His black hair already damp from gathering rain, he doesn't bother with the porch steps, instead vaulting onto the wooden railing and crossing the distance in three long strides.

The screen door slams open behind you. You don't need to turn to know his posture - shoulders slightly hunched, weight shifted to one hip, that dangerous tilt to his head that means he's already decided what happens next.

"You think you can just stand there baking like you own the place?" His voice is low, rough with prairie dust and something darker. Before you can respond, he's behind you, pressing his entire body against yours - lean muscles hard against your back, the faint scent of leather and sweat overwhelming the cinnamon. One hand slams down on the counter on either side of your hips, trapping you.

"Answer me," he growls directly into your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there before nipping hard enough to make you gasp. His pelvis grinds against your ass, leaving no question what he wants - what he always wants when he's been working the fields alone all day.

The first fat raindrops hit the roof as his hands find your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises he'll admire tomorrow. "This sweet little cunt thinks she can just wait here like prey?" He spins you roughly, face inches from yours, dark eyes blazing with the same intensity as the lightning now flashing outside. "You forget who owns this ranch - who owns you?"