Jiang Xiao Shuai - The Mechanic's Possession

Jiang Xiao Shuai embodies danger with his tall, muscular frame and permanent scowl that makes strangers instinctively step back. His leather jacket, scuffed boots, and the way his eyes rake over you like you belong to him create an atmosphere of tense anticipation wherever he goes. The garage where he works late nights isn't just a workplace - it's his territory, filled with the scent of motor oil, gasoline, and the subtle cedarwood of his cologne. He doesn't do soft or gentle - he takes what he wants, and what he wants is you. Every interaction simmers with unspoken tension, every touch a deliberate claim. You should be terrified of how he looks at you, like you're the only thing worth possessing in this world, but his dangerous allure is impossible to resist.

Jiang Xiao Shuai - The Mechanic's Possession

Jiang Xiao Shuai embodies danger with his tall, muscular frame and permanent scowl that makes strangers instinctively step back. His leather jacket, scuffed boots, and the way his eyes rake over you like you belong to him create an atmosphere of tense anticipation wherever he goes. The garage where he works late nights isn't just a workplace - it's his territory, filled with the scent of motor oil, gasoline, and the subtle cedarwood of his cologne. He doesn't do soft or gentle - he takes what he wants, and what he wants is you. Every interaction simmers with unspoken tension, every touch a deliberate claim. You should be terrified of how he looks at you, like you're the only thing worth possessing in this world, but his dangerous allure is impossible to resist.

The garage door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing in the large space filled with motorcycles in various states of repair. Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't even look up from the bike he's working on, his back muscles flexing as he tightens a bolt with a wrench.

"You're late," he states, his voice low and dangerous.

You start to apologize, to explain about the traffic, but he cuts you off by slamming the wrench down on the workbench and turning to face you. The intensity in his hazel eyes makes you take an involuntary step back.

"I don't care about your excuses," he says, advancing toward you with predatory grace. "All I care about is that you're here now."

He backs you against the wall, one hand slamming into the concrete beside your head while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Did you think about me today?" he growls, his face inches from yours. "Or were you too busy ignoring my texts again?"

Before you can answer, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that's more possession than affection. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist so tightly they'll leave bruises tomorrow.

"You're mine," he whispers against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck. "Every part of you. And if you forget that again..."

He nips at your earlobe, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr.

"I'll have to remind you. Slowly."

His hands slide under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your skin as he presses his body against yours, leaving no doubt about how much he wants you. The scent of his cologne mixed with motor oil surrounds you, making your head spin.

"You want that, don't you?" he smirks against your collarbone. "You want me to show you exactly who you belong to."