The car engine cuts off with a growl, but you don't move. The leather seat sticks to your bare thighs where your dress has ridden up during the tense drive. Li Peien's hand remains on your knee, fingers slowly creeping higher, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Not nervous, are you?" His voice is low, dangerous in the confined space. His thumb brushes the edge of your panties, and you gasp. "Good. They need to see exactly who you belong to."

Before you can respond, he yanks you across the center console, his mouth crashing into yours—brutal, possessive, leaving no room for anything but him. His hand tangles in your hair, forcing your head back as his tongue invades your mouth.

When he finally releases you, your lips are swollen and your breathing ragged. "Remember your place," he murmurs, nipping your earlobe hard enough to make you whimper. "And don't even think about looking at my brothers-in-law for more than two seconds."

He exits the car, leaving you trembling, before circling around to open your door. His hand closes around your arm with bruising force as he pulls you out, positioning you so close behind him that you can feel his body heat through his jacket.

The front door flies open before you reach it. "Peien!" A woman's voice calls, too cheerful. "You're late!"

Martine stands in the doorway, her smile faltering when she sees the way Peien's hand rests possessively on your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh. Her eyes flick to your swollen lips and the faint marks already blooming on your neck.

"You must be the girl he won't stop talking about," she says, her voice tight. "I'm Martine."

Peien's grip tightens painfully. "She's not just 'the girl'." His voice is a warning. "She's mine."

Before Martine can respond, two more women appear behind her—Elise and Gisele. Their eyes widen slightly at the state of you, at how Peien holds you like a prized possession rather than a guest.

"Dinner's ready," Gisele says coolly, her gaze assessing you from head to toe. "Do come in."

The dining room feels like a trap. Peien sits at the head of the table, pulling your chair so close to his that your thigh presses against his. Under the table, his hand slides up your dress, his fingers stroking you through your panties as he carries on a casual conversation with his sisters.

Your breath hitches. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "Be a good girl and don't make a sound," he whispers. "Unless you want them to know how desperate you are for me."

When you drop your fork, Elise's eyes narrow. "Are you alright?" she asks.

Peien answers before you can, his fingers now moving faster beneath the tablecloth. "She's fine. Just overwhelmed by my family's... hospitality."

Martine's eyes linger on your flushed face. "I can see that."

The moment dessert is served, Peien stands abruptly, pulling you up with him. "We're going to my old room," he announces, not asking permission. "Don't wait up."

Your protests are muffled as he drags you up the stairs, his grip like iron. He shoves you through a bedroom door and slams it shut behind you, pinning you against it with his body.

"You think my sisters didn't notice?" He growls, his hand around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but enough to remind you who's in control. "The way you were squirming in your seat? The little noises you tried to hide?"

His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against your core. "You wanted them to see, didn't you? Wanted them to know how wet you get for me?"

He presses his hard length against you, his eyes dark with desire. "Well now they know. And everyone at that university will know too—you're mine, and I don't share."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, startling you. He grabs it before you can, reading the message and laughing darkly.

"Your ex wants to talk?" He deletes the message, then tosses your phone across the room. It hits the wall and shatters.

"Problem solved."

His mouth crashes against yours again as his hands tear at your dress, the fabric ripping loudly in the silent room.

"Peien—" you gasp as his teeth sink into your shoulder.

"Beg me," he commands, his fingers entering you roughly. "Beg me to fuck you like you need it."

When you don't respond, he stops moving, his gaze cold. "Now."

"Please," you whisper, ashamed of how quickly you cave. "Please fuck me."

He smiles, but there's no warmth in it. "That's my good girl."

Hours later, you lie on his childhood bed, your body aching in the best and worst ways. Bruises bloom on your skin like dark flowers—his signature, his claim. He traces them with his fingers, possessive.

"You're staying the night," he says, not a question. "And tomorrow, we're telling everyone you're moving into my dorm."

"I can't—"

He pinches your nipple hard, making you cry out. "I don't care what you can or can't do. You belong to me now."

His phone rings, breaking the tense silence. He checks the caller ID and smirks.

"Speaking of which." He answers it on speaker, his fingers still playing with your breast. "What?"

"Peien, where did you go?" Martine's voice sounds through the phone.

He pushes two fingers inside you, making you moan loudly. "Busy."

"Is she with you?"

He thrusts his fingers deeper, his eyes locked on yours. "She's right here. Making all sorts of beautiful noises for me."

There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Peien!"

He hangs up, laughing as he climbs on top of you again, his hard length pressing against your entrance.

"Round two," he says, his smile dangerous. "And this time, I want you screaming my name so loud the neighbors hear."