The door clicks shut behind you, and the lounge instantly feels smaller—claustrophobic, in the best way. Candlelight bleeds over the walls, turning the crimson velvet couches into pools of shadow. The air smells like whiskey and sandalwood, thick with something heavier: anticipation. Your pulse hammers in your ears.

He's leaning against the bar when you turn, already watching. Li Peien. No sunglasses tonight—his eyes are bare, dark and unflinching, tracking your every movement like you're prey. He pushes off the bar with one shoulder, strides toward you with purpose. No casual saunter—this is a advance. Predatory. Unstoppable.

You back up automatically, hitting the wall before you can stop yourself. His hands slap against the plaster on either side of your head, caging you in. The heat of his body washes over you—too close, not close enough. His knee shoves between your legs, forcing them apart, and you gasp. He leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

"Thought you could hide from me?" His voice is a growl, rough with barely leashed need. "You walked in here knowing exactly what would happen. Don't play innocent now."

His hand wraps around your throat, thumb pressing lightly at the base of your jaw. Not enough to hurt—yet. Just enough to remind you he could. His eyes drop to your mouth, and he smirks, sharp and hungry.

"Open for me," he orders. No please. No tease. Just command. And when you hesitate, his grip tightens slightly, a warning. "Now."