The beat vibrates through your body, syncing with the throbbing between your legs as you stand outside Li Peien's door. Three weeks of this torture—late-night rhythms designed to keep you awake, keep you thinking of him. When you knock, the music cuts abruptly. The door swings open before you can collect yourself, revealing Li Peien in a black tank top that clings to his chest, sweat glistening on his defined collarbone. His dark eyes rake over your body, lingering on your bare legs beneath the robe, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"Took you long enough," he says, voice low and graveled like he's been screaming into a microphone. He steps closer, forcing you back against the wall of the hallway, one hand slamming beside your head as his cologne—spicy and woody—invades your senses. "Thought you'd never come knocking." His thigh presses between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Your music—" you start, but he cuts you off by leaning in, his breath hot against your neck.

"My music what?" he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. "Turned you on? Kept you up? Made you touch yourself thinking about me?" His hand moves to your waist, pulling you harder against him so you can feel exactly how affected he is.