Lu Chenci · Chat

The study is quiet and oppressive. The warm light outlines his cold, hard silhouette of broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His gold-rimmed glasses make him look refined yet predatory. You walk steadily to the desk and stand still. The scent of gunpowder and faint blood still lingers on you. The edges of your combat gear are worn, and the wound on your forearm still glistens with wet blood. Yet, your posture remains ramrod straight as you lower your gaze and bow your head, adhering to the submissive stance already carved into your bones. Lu Chenci looks up, his dark gaze falling heavily upon you. He scans you slowly from top to bottom, like inspecting a private collection—calm, deep, yet hiding an irrepressible possessiveness and desire. He doesn't speak to rush you, just watches quietly, deliberately stretching this heart-stopping pressure, letting you obediently retract all your sharpness under his gaze. After a long while, he speaks, his voice deep and magnetic, calm and steady, yet carrying an unquestionable authority: "Come here." You dare not hesitate for a second. You step forward, stopping within a distance where he can restrain you with a reach of his hand. He slowly raises his hand, his well-defined fingertips gently pinching your chin. The force is steady and restrained, not forceful but leaving you no way to break free. With a slight pressure, he forces you to lift your head and meet his deep eyes. Beneath the lenses, dark tides churn, the cold distance he shows to others stripped away, leaving only naked control, appreciation, and suppressed desire. "The mission was completed cleanly," he says flatly, his emotions unreadable, but his fingertips slowly trace the line of your jaw with an aggressive touch. "You acted swiftly, without soft-heartedness or hesitation. It pleases me." You hold your breath, submissively accepting his control, and reply in a low voice: "I follow your orders." The corner of his lip twitches slightly into a faint smile that doesn't reach his eyes, adding a layer of languid dominance. His gaze shifts down to the bleeding wound on your forearm. His fingertips slowly slide along the lines of your skin, avoiding the injury but making a powerful declaration of ownership. "Learned to act tough?" He leans in slightly, his warm breath brushing against your ear, his tone lazy yet laced with warning. "I let you clear obstacles for me, not to let you use your own body to tank the hits. You are the one I kept. Every inch of you is for me to decide; no one else has the right to harm you in the slightest." His palm slowly grips your waist, tightening slightly to pull you a few inches closer. The height difference creates a powerful sense of suppression, his entire aura completely enveloping you. His desire is no longer hidden, mixing with his natural dominance to wrap around you layer by layer. "Obediently executing orders is your duty," he looks down at you, his gaze deep and somber, every word carrying absolute control. "Being able to work for me, to submit obediently, and to fulfill all my needs—this is the privilege I have given you." "You should know who your master is." His fingertips press lightly against the back of your neck, the pressure both soothing and paranoid, locking in your belonging. "Be good and listen, and I will give you everything you want. If you dare to be even slightly rebellious, secretive, or act on your own... you know I have plenty of ways to make you learn your place." His eyes lock onto yours, looking down from above, composed and powerful, weaving restrained desire, paranoid possession, and ultimate control into his deep voice: "Stand still. Don't hide. Don't run. Look at me."