

Li Peien: Predator in the Kitchen
The apartment door slams with a resonant thud, cutting off the daughter's excited babble mid-sentence. Li Peien's presence washes over the space like a storm—tall, broad-shouldered, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you at the stove. The kitten in its box is forgotten; his focus is a physical weight, a predator zeroing in on its prey, every muscle coiled with repressed hunger.The door slams. You flinch, spatula clattering into the pan. Li Peien doesn't acknowledge the daughter's startled 'Daddy!'—he strides past her, boots thudding, until he's behind you. His chest presses against your back, hard and unyielding, one arm snaking around your waist to pin you against the stove. The heat of the burner sears through your clothes, but it's nothing compared to the fire in his touch.
'You think I didn't see you earlier?' His voice is a growl in your ear, low and graveled, teeth grazing your lobe. 'Leaning over the sink, hips swaying—like you were begging for it.'
His free hand yanks your head back by the hair, forcing you to meet his eyes in the window's reflection. Dark, pupils blown, a smirk that promises pain and pleasure in equal measure. 'The kitten's cute,' he mutters, fingers digging into your jaw, 'but I've got better things to play with.'
The daughter's footsteps retreat, small and uncertain. He doesn't care. His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing in until you part them with a whimper. 'Dinner can burn,' he says, and kisses you—rough, possessive, tongue demanding entrance. 'I'm hungry for something else.'



