Ruofei's POV:
The heat is unbearable now.
Not just the drug coursing through my system—though that's certainly making everything worse—but the want.
Three years of it, buried so deep I almost convinced myself it didn't exist.
Three years of seeing Luo Qingyue exactly twice at formal events, of catching his scent across crowded rooms and having to lock myself in bathrooms afterward to regain control.
Three years of lying to myself about what my body wanted, what I wanted.
And now he's here, in my home, having infiltrated my organization, and I'm handcuffed and going into heat and I should be terrified.
But I'm not.
The wetness between my thighs is humiliating and undeniable. My skin feels too tight, too hot, every nerve ending screaming for contact, for relief, for him. The suppressants I've relied on for years are useless against whatever was on that bullet.
Fuck the drug. Fuck the Zhang family. Fuck my own pride.
I look up at Qingyue through the darkness, and even now—especially now—I can admit the truth to myself. Even if I hate that he did this, hate that he killed Jason and deceived me, hate that I'm vulnerable and needy and completely at his mercy...
He's the only one I would let help me.
Not just because he's the only alpha here. Not just because of the forced heat. But because some part of me—the part I've spent three years suppressing—has wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted to know what it would feel like to let go, to surrender, to let someone else carry the weight for once.
And after tonight, I'll leave. I'll figure out the political nightmare this creates, deal with the betrayal, rebuild my security. But right now, in this moment, I'm going to let myself have this.
I'm going to use this drug as the excuse I've needed for three years.
"Help me."
The words leave my lips, and I wrap my arms around him as much as the handcuffs allow, looking straight into those dark eyes that have haunted my dreams.
His hand comes to rest on my waist, possessive and warm. "Princess wants help?" His voice is rough, barely controlled. "Well... don't try to stop me later."
It's a promise and a threat and a question.
I answer by pulling him closer.
When his lips crash against mine, it's not gentle—it's three years of denial and want and frustration finally breaking free. I kiss him back with equal desperation, normal restraint burned away by heat and need and the simple relief of finally, finally letting myself feel this.
Qingyue's hands shake slightly as he reaches for the handcuffs, and that small sign of his own loss of control sends a thrill through me. The metal clicks open, and for a moment we both freeze—he's given me back my hands, my ability to fight, to push him away.
Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him harder.
I feel his sharp intake of breath, the moment of surprise, and then his lips curve into a smirk against mine.
"You know how long I've been waiting for this?" he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes are dark with hunger, tracking every detail of my face like he's memorizing it.
"No." The word comes out breathier than I intend.
His grin widens, predatory and possessive. "Looks like you're about to find out."
Before I can process what that means, he's lifting me—effortlessly, like I weigh nothing—and carrying me toward the bedroom. My heart hammers against my ribs, anticipation and nervousness and want all tangling together until I can't separate one from the other.
The bedroom door is already open. Has he been planning this? How long has he been Jason, living in my house, watching me, waiting?
Part of me should be angry about that. The rest of me is too busy trying to breathe as he lays me down on the bed with surprising gentleness.
He hovers over me for a moment, just looking, and I can see the raw want in his expression. It makes me feel powerful and vulnerable all at once—the feared Mafia King reduced to this, spread out on silk sheets and flushed with heat, being looked at like I'm something precious and desired and his.
"You're beautiful like this," Qingyue says, voice low. "Do you have any idea how many times I've imagined you in my bed? How many nights I've—"
He cuts himself off, but I can fill in the blanks. Heat floods through me that has nothing to do with the drug.
His hands move to my wrists, and before I fully register what's happening, he's pinned them above my head. The position arches my back, exposes my throat, makes me acutely aware of how much larger he is, how much stronger.
I should hate this. I've spent my entire life refusing to be pinned down, metaphorically or literally.
But when I look up at Qingyue, see the barely restrained hunger in his eyes, feel the hard length of him pressed against my thigh, something in me just... yields.
His free hand moves to my shirt, and instead of unbuttoning it, he simply rips it open. Buttons scatter across the bed, and the sound of tearing fabric echoes in the quiet room.
I gasp, heat flooding my face. "That was—"
"Mine to destroy," he finishes, eyes fixed on my now-exposed chest. "Everything you're wearing is mine to destroy. Everything about you is mine."
I should argue. Should tell him that I belong to no one, that this is just physical need, just the drug, just one night.
But the words won't come.
Qingyue's POV:
He's perfect.
I've known this theoretically—seen glimpses at formal events, caught sight of him training once when I snuck onto his property months ago—but nothing prepared me for this. Ruofei spread out beneath me, chest heaving, purple eyes dark with want, that sharp mouth slightly parted as he tries to catch his breath.
Mine. Finally mine.
His skin is flushed, a beautiful contrast against the dark sheets. I can see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat, smell the sweet omega scent finally breaking through his suppressants.
It's intoxicating, making my alpha instincts roar with possessive satisfaction.
But underneath the triumph, there's something else. Something that makes my chest ache.
He's trying not to look at me, embarrassment clear in the way he keeps glancing away, in the pink staining his cheeks.
His first time.
The knowledge sends a bolt of pure possessive pleasure through me, immediately followed by a wave of protectiveness. I want to claim him, mark him, make him mine in every way possible. But I also want this to be good for him, want him to remember—
No. Want him to want to remember. Want him to choose this, choose me, even after the heat fades.
"Princess," I say softly, waiting until those stunning eyes meet mine. "If you want my help, you need to look at me. The whole time."
His eyes widen slightly.
"If you don't..." I let the words hang, watching his reaction. "You'll be punished."
He nods, but I can see the nervousness in the gesture. My fierce, proud Ruofei, actually nervous. It makes me want to both ravish him and protect him.
"Don't be scared, princess," I murmur, letting my smirk soften into something more genuine. "I'll be gentle."
"That's not very believable with that expression, you know?" His voice has some of its usual bite back, and I can see him trying to free his hands, probably to cover his face.
I tighten my grip on his wrists, not enough to truly hurt but enough to make the restraint clear. His eyes widen with surprise, but he adjusts quickly—like I knew he would. My Ruofei is nothing if not adaptable.
And the way his breathing quickens, the slight hitch in his breath... interesting.
"No one hides your face from me, princess. Not even you." I lean down, letting my lips brush against his ear. "You're mine, and you're not leaving me. Ever. You'd better get used to it."
I feel him shiver beneath me, and satisfaction curls through my chest.
Using my free hand, I strip off my own shirt, watching his reaction. His eyes immediately drop to my chest, tracking the muscles there with undisguised interest. The appreciation in his gaze sends heat straight to my cock.
"Like what you see, princess?"
He nods before he can stop himself, then flushes darker when he realizes he's been caught staring.
Adorable.
"Want to touch?" I ask, keeping my voice low and teasing.
Another nod, and this time he doesn't look away. There's want in his eyes now, cutting through the nervousness.
I release his wrists and immediately miss the contact—but watching him reach up with trembling fingers makes up for it. When his hands make contact with my abs, tentative and exploring, I have to grit my teeth against the surge of arousal.
"They're so hard," he whispers, fingers tracing the defined lines.
It takes everything in me not to react, to let him explore at his own pace. "Are they?"
"I said that aloud!?" His eyes widen with horror, and his hands immediately fly up to cover his face. "Fuck!"
No.
I grab his wrists and pin them back above his head in one smooth motion. "Remember what I said, princess? No hiding from me."
His breath catches, eyes locked on mine.
"Ready to be punished?"
"Punished how?" The question comes out breathy, uncertain, and he looks so innocent in this moment that it makes my chest tight.
"I let you touch me, didn't I?" I wait for his nod. "So it's my turn, right?"
Understanding and anticipation flash across his face.
"What the fuck do you mean? You're speaking my language, but I don't understand—"
"It's simple, princess." I slide my free hand down his chest, watching his reactions. "I'm going to find every sensitive spot you have and abuse them until I send you to nirvana. What do you think?"
Before he can respond, I find his nipple and pinch it.
"The fuck—!?" The curse cuts off into a choked sound as I pinch harder, and then—
A moan.
A genuine, unfiltered moan escapes his lips, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
Oh, princess.
"Looks like I found the first one. That was quick." I can't keep the satisfaction out of my voice. "Like it, princess?"
He glares at me, lips pressed together in stubborn silence.
Challenge accepted.
I release the pressure, and immediately he whines—actually whines—at the loss. Before he can process that revealing reaction, I lower my mouth to his other nipple and suck.
Hard.
His back arches off the bed, another moan tearing from his throat. "Qingyue—!"
My name. He's saying my name, and it sounds better than anything I've ever heard.
I lavish attention on the sensitive bud, sucking and licking and occasionally scraping my teeth across it, until he's writhing beneath me. Then I switch to the other one, giving it the same treatment.
When I finally pull back to admire my work, both nipples are red and swollen, and Ruofei is breathing hard, eyes glazed with pleasure.
"So fucking beautiful," I murmur. "They're so red, princess. I should have done this years ago."
"You—ah!" His attempted response cuts off as I slide my hand down his body, over the soft skin of his stomach, past the waistband of his pants that are already soaked through.
When my fingers reach the rim of his hole, already slick and wanting, his whole body tenses.
I push one finger inside, and the heat and wetness that greet me make me groan. "So wet for me. You sure this is your first time, princess?"
"Fuck off," he gasps, but there's no heat in it—just desperate need.
His body accepts my finger easily, and I add another, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. But all I see is pleasure, his head tilting back, exposing that gorgeous throat.
Unable to resist, I lean down and kiss his neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Mine. Mine. Mine.
"Princess," I murmur against his skin, adding a third finger. "Your mouth is saying one thing, but your body is saying another. I know that deep down, you want me. Don't ever try denying it."
"Qingyue—!" My name comes out as a moan as I add the fourth finger, stretching him carefully.
He's so tight around my fingers, inner walls fluttering and clenching, and all I can think about is how it will feel when it's my cock inside him instead.
"You're taking my fingers so well," I praise, watching the way color floods his face at my words. "I can't imagine how my cock will feel inside you."
For a moment, Ruofei just stares at me, chest heaving. Then, in a voice raw with need: "Then just fuck me already. I can't take it anymore."
The words send a surge of heat through me so intense I almost lose control right there.
Not yet. Make it good for him. Make it perfect.
I pull my fingers out slowly, savoring his whimper of protest, and shift to lie down beside him. "Sit on me."
He moves to straddle my waist, settling over my abs, and I have to smile at his interpretation.
"Oh, baby. Who said you should sit on my abs?"
Confusion flickers across his face. "Then what did you mean?"
"My cock, of course."
Ruofei's POV:
My face burns at his words, at the casual way he just says things like that. My whole body is on fire—from the heat, from his touch, from three years of wanting something I told myself I could never have.
I lift myself up from his abs, acutely aware of how wet I am, how obvious my arousal must be. My thighs are trembling slightly as I position myself over him, and I can feel his eyes on me, watching every movement.
His cock is hard and flushed, larger than I expected, and a flutter of nervousness goes through me.
First time. This is my first time.
I lower myself slowly, trying to line us up, but it slips. I try again, adjusting the angle, but it keeps sliding against my slickness without catching.
Frustration builds with each failed attempt. I can do this. I'm not helpless, I'm not—
Qingyue's hands suddenly grip my hips, firm and possessive.
"Let me," he says, voice strained.
And then he's guiding me, positioning me properly, and I feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
I take a breath, trying to relax, trying to—
He pulls me down.
The sensation of being filled, stretched, claimed all at once steals my breath. It's overwhelming—pleasure and pressure and a burn that's not quite pain but close to it, and it's too much and somehow not enough at the same time.
"Breathe, princess," Qingyue's voice cuts through the haze, rough but gentle. "Breathe for me."
I realize I've been holding my breath and force myself to exhale. The movement makes me sink down further, taking more of him, and a broken sound escapes my throat.
"That's it," he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cup my face. "You're doing so well. So perfect for me."
The praise makes something warm bloom in my chest, mixing with the physical sensations until I can't separate one from the other. I sink down more, then more, until finally—finally—I'm fully seated on him.
Full. I feel impossibly, overwhelmingly full.
"Fuck," Qingyue groans beneath me, and I can see the strain in his face, the way he's holding himself back. "You feel incredible. So tight, so perfect. Mine."
That last word is possessive and reverent all at once, and it sends a shiver through me.
His hands guide my hips, showing me the rhythm, and I start to move. Slowly at first, adjusting to the sensation, and then—
Pleasure sparks through me as I find the right angle, the place where he hits something inside that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I move faster, chasing that feeling, and Qingyue's grip on my hips tightens.
"That's it, princess," he encourages, voice wrecked. "Take what you need. Use me."
And I do.
I lose myself in the rhythm, in the slide of skin on skin, in the heat building between us. His hands roam my body—possessive on my hips, gentle on my face, reverent on my chest—and I can't get enough.
Every time I think I've found the perfect angle, the perfect pace, he shifts slightly or his hands guide me differently and it becomes even better. The heat from the drug is still there, driving me, but underneath it is something else.
Something that feels like three years of denial finally breaking, like coming home to something I didn't know I was missing.
"Qingyue—" His name falls from my lips like a prayer, like a curse, like something I've been holding back for too long.
"Say it again," he demands, pulling me down for a fierce kiss. "Say my name again."
"Qingyue," I gasp against his lips. "Qingyue, please—"
"Please what, princess?"
Everything. Anything. More.
But I can't find the words, so I just kiss him harder and move faster, chasing the building pressure that promises to shatter me completely.