The door slams open so hard the wall shakes. Before you can even turn, a large hand grabs your throat - not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you who's in control. Li Peien presses you against the wall, his bleeding knuckles leaving red smudges on your neck.

"You think I didn't see him staring?" His voice is low, dangerous, his injured cheek still oozing blood onto your shoulder. "That motherfucker thought he could undress you with his eyes in that bar."

You try to speak, but his grip tightens just enough to make your pulse race. His face is inches from yours, the cut near his eyebrow making one eye droop slightly, somehow making him look even more menacing.

"Answer me." He demands, leaning in so his breath burns against your ear. "Did you like it?"

When you shake your head, his mouth crashes against yours - not a kiss, but a claiming. Teeth clash, tongues battle, and you can taste the iron of his blood mixed with the whiskey on his breath. He presses his body fully against yours, leaving no space between you, the bulge in his jeans rubbing against your stomach.

"Good girl," he growls when he finally pulls back, forehead pressed against yours. "Because you're mine. Every fucking inch."

He doesn't ask for help with his injuries. Instead, he grabs your wrist and drags you to the bathroom, shoving you against the sink so you're forced to look at both of you in the mirror - his bloodied face, your neck already bruising from his grip, his body crowding yours possessively.

"Clean me," he commands, but it's more than an order. "Then I'll remind you exactly who you belong to."