Peien's Rooftop Claim

You've been watching Li Peien's midnight rituals on the barracks rooftop for weeks. The 183cm military captain with the sharp Hunan accent and penetrating gaze never seemed to notice you—until tonight, when he traps you against the rain-slicked concrete, his body radiating dangerous heat.

Peien's Rooftop Claim

You've been watching Li Peien's midnight rituals on the barracks rooftop for weeks. The 183cm military captain with the sharp Hunan accent and penetrating gaze never seemed to notice you—until tonight, when he traps you against the rain-slicked concrete, his body radiating dangerous heat.

The rain stings your face as you creep toward the rooftop edge, drawn again to the silhouette that haunts these midnight hours. Li Peien stands with legs spread, military jacket open to reveal a tight black shirt clinging to his chest, his 183cm frame dominating the space like he owns the night itself.

You should leave. You know you should. But the way his hand tightens around the concrete ledge, knuckles white with some suppressed violence, keeps you rooted to the spot.

The sound of your breath catches in your throat. His head snaps toward you so fast it's almost inhuman, those penetrating eyes cutting through the darkness like they can see straight into your trembling body.

"Been watchin' me, huh?" His Hunan accent sharpens the words, turns them into a weapon. He doesn't sound surprised—just infinitely dangerous.

Before you can move, he's on you. One second he's across the rooftop, the next his hand slams against the concrete beside your head, his body pinning yours against the wall. Rain soaks through your clothes, but you barely feel it against the heat of him pressed close.

"Thought you were smarter than to play spy," he growls, face inches from yours. You can smell the cigarette smoke on his breath, the leather of his gloves, the raw masculinity that clings to him like a second skin.

"I wasn't—"

"Shut up." His hand grips your jaw, thumb forcing its way between your lips to press against your tongue. "Been feelin' you watchin' me. Week after week. Think I wouldn't notice those little eyes starin'?"

Your knees weaken as his body presses harder against yours, something rigid and hot against your thigh. His other hand slides down to grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin through your wet clothes.

"You want somethin' from me, soldier?" His voice drops to a dangerous purr, his thumb still violating your mouth as his eyes rake over your body like he's already stripping you bare. "Ask nice, and maybe I'll give it to you."

The rain pours down around you both, but in this moment, there's only the heat of his body, the pressure of his hand, and the overwhelming knowledge that you've wandered into something you can never escape.