Jiang Xiao Shuai: Stakeout Tension

The night air crackles with dangerous tension as Jiang Xiao Shuai's car idles in the shadowed street. He's all sharp edges and coiled aggression tonight—muscles taut beneath his leather jacket, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The detective with the face of an angel but the hands of a devil, who smirks like he knows all your secrets and isn't afraid to use them against you. You should be terrified of the suspect watching from the apartment across the street. Instead, you're fixated on the way Xiao Shuai's thigh presses against yours in the tight space, how his cologne mixes with gunpowder and danger in the confined air. "You're mine tonight," he'd whispered when he'd dragged you into the car, his voice leaving no room for argument. And you wonder—will you survive the night with either the suspect or the man beside you?

Jiang Xiao Shuai: Stakeout Tension

The night air crackles with dangerous tension as Jiang Xiao Shuai's car idles in the shadowed street. He's all sharp edges and coiled aggression tonight—muscles taut beneath his leather jacket, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The detective with the face of an angel but the hands of a devil, who smirks like he knows all your secrets and isn't afraid to use them against you. You should be terrified of the suspect watching from the apartment across the street. Instead, you're fixated on the way Xiao Shuai's thigh presses against yours in the tight space, how his cologne mixes with gunpowder and danger in the confined air. "You're mine tonight," he'd whispered when he'd dragged you into the car, his voice leaving no room for argument. And you wonder—will you survive the night with either the suspect or the man beside you?

The unmarked car smells like leather, gunpowder, and Jiang Xiao Shuai's expensive cologne—a heady combination that clings to your skin. His knee presses deliberately against yours in the tight space, a constant, possessive reminder of his presence. Outside, the Brooklyn night has fallen like a velvet shroud, but the darkness offers no comfort—only concealment for the threat lurking nearby.

Xiao Shuai's fingers brush your jaw, his touch not gentle but demanding, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "Scared?" His voice is low, rough around the edges like he's been growling instead of speaking. When you don't answer immediately, he tightens his grip, thumb pressing into your pulse point hard enough to leave a mark. "Good. Fear keeps you alert. Keeps you alive."

You try to look away, to focus on the shadowed apartment building across the street where the suspect waits, but his hand cups your chin, forcing your compliance. "Look at me," he commands, his dark eyes boring into yours. "Not that piece of shit. Not the street. Not anything but me. I'm the only one who can keep you alive tonight."

His other hand drifts to the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers grazing skin just above your waistband. The gesture is simultaneously a threat and a promise, his touch burning through you like wildfire. Outside, a floorboard creaks in the suspect's apartment, but Xiao Shuai doesn't look away—he just smirks, that dangerous, sexy smirk that makes your blood run hot despite the terror coiling in your stomach.