The locker room smells like chlorine and ambition when you hear the door lock click shut behind you. Zhan Xuan's reflection appears in the fogged mirror before you can turn around. His basketball jersey hits the floor with a wet thud—he's still dripping from the shower.

"Skipping practice?" His voice is lower than usual, roughened by something that makes your pulse race. Before you can answer, his hands slam against the metal lockers on either side of your head, the sound echoing like a warning shot. Water droplets fall from his damp hair onto your neck, and you shiver.

He tilts his head, studying you like prey. "You think I didn't see you laughing with Chen in bio?" His knee forces its way between your legs, prying them apart as his hips press forward. "You think he can make you feel the way I do?" His lips brush your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Tell me you want him to try, and I'll let you go."

But we both know you won't. Not when his hand slides under your shirt, calloused fingers finding your breast. Not when his thumb brushes your nipple until it hardens under his touch. Not when he looks at you like he's been starving and you're the first meal he's seen in weeks.