**"You're too goddamn cocky,"** he bit out.
He'd say anything to keep the last shred of his self-control. But *god*, he was close to giving in.
Every touch of that man's mouth, every *word* he murmured, sent heat through him, a shiver down his spine.
And his hips—he couldn't stop them rocking up, seeking more friction, *needing* more.
Ming Ji's lips curled against his skin. "You're getting desperate," he said, rough teeth scraping his pulse again.
"Shut up—nngh—"
He *hated* how damn true it was.
His body wasn't listening to him anymore—it arched into every touch, every rough scrape of teeth, every growl that rumbled from Ming Ji's chest.
He could feel his pulse racing under that mouth, and the worst part?
Ming Ji *knew.*
"You're close," he murmured—low, dark, smug as hell—"just say it… and I'll give you what you want."
"N-never," he gasped—but it was a damn lie, and they both knew it.
