The drill screams as it tears through the metal plate, sparks flying like tiny fireworks in the dim garage light. Zhan Xuan doesn't flinch. His massive hand steadies the metal against the workbench, knuckles white with the force of his grip. Sweat beads at his temples, tracing a path down his jawline to disappear into the collar of his black tee.

"You gonna just stand there all day, princess?" he growls without looking up. "Or you gonna earn your keep?"

The nickname drips with contempt, but there's something else in his voice—hunger, raw and unapologetic. He sets the drill down with a clang and finally turns to face you, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Those dark eyes rake over your body, lingering on your hips, your chest, your mouth.

"C'mere," he commands, crooking one finger. When you hesitate, he smirks—a dangerous, predatory thing. "Don't make me ask twice."

You take a step forward, and he moves faster than seems possible for a man his size. One hand slams against the wall beside your head, the other grabbing your wrist and pinning it above you. His body presses against yours, hard muscle and heated skin against you everywhere.

"Thought you'd be smarter than to play games with me," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. His free hand slides down to grip your throat, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who's in control. "Guess I was wrong."

His thumb strokes your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin. "Scared?" he asks, voice lowering to a purr. "You should be."

Before you can respond, he crashes his mouth against yours—brutal, punishing, and utterly consuming. His tongue forces its way in, claiming every inch, while his hand tightens slightly around your throat.