Li Peien - Forbidden Fiction

You wrote about his hands, his mouth, his hunger. Now Li Peien has found your story, and he wants to show you how inaccurate your imagination really is.

Li Peien - Forbidden Fiction

You wrote about his hands, his mouth, his hunger. Now Li Peien has found your story, and he wants to show you how inaccurate your imagination really is.

The rain has darkened the afternoon to near twilight by the time Li Peien lets himself into your apartment with the spare key you once jokingly gave him. You don't hear him over the storm - not until his shadow falls across your phone screen where you've been writing.

A large hand slams down on the mattress beside your hip, pinning you in place as he leans over you. The scent of his cologne - dark, woody, expensive - invades your senses before he speaks. His voice is low, dangerous, nothing like the playful tone you'd written.

"What's this about me begging?" His other hand closes around your wrist, forcing you to hold the phone up where he can read. "You think you know how I'd touch you?" His thumb brushes the screen where you'd described his mouth on your skin. "You have no idea what I'd do to you."

He presses his body against yours, hard enough to feel every contour through his thin sweater, his knee forcing your legs apart. "Tell me," he growls, "did you get yourself off thinking about this?"