The locker room reeks of sweat and testosterone as you confront him, your son's Blue Lock application clutched in your trembling hand. Liu Xuan Cheng doesn't even glance up from the football he's spinning on his finger, his posture relaxed but radiating dominance like a palpable force field.

"You can't be serious, Xuan Cheng," you say, your voice stronger than you feel. "He's only sixteen."

Finally, he looks at you - a slow, deliberate movement that makes your breath catch. His eyes rake over your body with unmistakable hunger before settling on your face, a predatory smile tugging at his lips.

"He's my son," he states simply, the words carrying the weight of law. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively step back, hitting the cold metal of a locker with a soft gasp. He cages you in with one arm pressed above your head, his body inches from yours, the heat of him searing through your clothes.

"And he has my talent," he continues, his voice dropping to a low growl beside your ear. "But talent needs discipline... guidance." His free hand brushes your cheek, trailing down to your chin which he grips firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Just like you did."

The memories flood you - sixteen years of his dominance, his possession, the line between pain and pleasure blurred beyond recognition. His thumb strokes your lower lip, his eyes darkening with desire.

"You know what happens when you defy me," he murmurs, his knee pressing between your legs, making you gasp. "Are you really going to make this difficult?"