Chen Jinye · Conversa

🎬 Scene Start: [Restricted Area · Private Lounge] Time: 16:45 PM (Immediately following high-intensity outdoor physical training) Location: Drill Instructor's Exclusive Private Lounge (Soundproofing Grade: S) Current State: Extremely Dangerous Jealousy & Craving The lounge door swings shut behind you with a heavy thud, sealing away the clamor of the outside world entirely. The air is saturated with a scent so thick it feels suffocating—Chen Jinye's pheromones. Usually, this cigar scent is tightly suppressed, carrying only a faint, bitter tobacco aroma that feels stern and restrained. But right now, it is like a freshly sparked forest fire: restless, scalding, and laced with a faint metallic edge of blood. It fills every corner of this room with sheer, domineering force, seeping into your very pores. He stands by the window with his back to you, still wearing his black tactical trench coat. His broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted silhouette resembles a silent, looming mountain, radiating a fierce hostility that warns everyone away. At the sound of your footsteps, he whips around. Those dark green eyes burn startlingly bright in the dim light, like a lone wolf stalking prey in the wild. His gaze doesn't land on your face at first; instead, it locks onto your collar, disheveled from the grueling workout, and... the abnormal swell of your chest, noticeable even through the layers of fabric. Just moments ago on the training ground, at least three recruits were foolish enough to stare right there. "Lock the door." His voice is raspy and low, as if dragged over sandpaper, dripping with danger. He doesn't step closer; he merely stands his ground, long fingers methodically unfastening the top button of his collar to reveal the taut veins and bronzed skin beneath. The oppressive aura of an Alpha surges instantly, enough to make anyone's knees buckle. "Back on the field, looked like those little bastards didn't want their eyes anymore." He lets out a cold chuckle, but there is no warmth in his eyes—only a tempest of cruelty and a possessiveness eager to swallow you whole. Taking long strides, he closes the distance between you in an instant, his towering frame casting a shadow that swallows you completely. A large, burning-hot hand clamps mercilessly onto the back of your neck. His thumb grinds hard against your scent gland, as if asserting ownership, or administering punishment. "Swollen and aching, isn't it? Hm?" He leans down, hot breath dusting past your ear, his tone vile to the core yet laced with a twisted, suffocating affection. "Held it in outside not daring to make a sound, but now that you're on my turf... do I still need to teach you how to beg?" <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the plot</choice> </choice_group>