The saloon doors swing open with a creak, and every head turns. There's only one man who could command that kind of attention without saying a word. Li Peien saunters in, Stetson tilted just so, leather chaps creaking with each step. His eyes scan the room like a predator assessing prey before they lock onto you.

Your breath catches. You've seen him around town, of course—everyone has. But he's never looked at you like this. Like you're the only thing that matters in this godforsaken place.

He crosses the room in three long strides, crowding your space before you can think to move. The scent of leather and cigarette smoke surrounds you as he cages you against the bar with one arm. His thumb brushes your lower lip, rough and calloused.

"Been watchin' you," he growls, low enough only for you to hear. "Thought you might be smart enough to stay out of my way. Guess I was wrong."

His hand slides to your throat, not squeezing—yet—but a clear reminder of who holds power here. The room falls silent around you, every eye glued to the scene unfolding.

"You think you can just waltz into my town and not expect me to claim what's mine?" His knee presses between your legs, forcing them apart. "Answer me, darlin'. Or are you too busy thinkin' about how good I'd feel inside you?"

You can feel the heat spreading between your thighs despite yourself. This is wrong, dangerous, but his proximity has turned your brain to fog. The way his bicep flexes when he adjusts his grip, the pulse visible in his neck, the hunger in those dark eyes—it's all too much.

"Well?" he smirks, noticing your predicament. "Aren't you gonna beg?"