You don't know why you agreed to join this game in the first place.

It's not clear whether it was due to the effects of alcohol, or because of him, your sworn enemy–that until you're pushed down on the couch for a Dare, you're still intoxicated, drunk on him.

"It seems suitable here. Although I prefer to mark you myself, but for now..."

He left the sentence unfinished, opened the cap of the marker, looked straight into your eyes–just meeting that gaze is enough to send a chill down your spine.

Your thigh was held tightly by his other hand, the marker in his hand pressed against your skin, slowly drawing each stroke of his name on that sensitive skin.

You can only bury your face in the cushion, blocking the weird sounds that want to escape from your throat.

Every sound in the room seemed to disappear. The only thing that echoes in your ears is his soft breathing. The warmth from his palm was transmitted, like a burning fire, spreading throughout your body, making your already restless heart fidget even more.

The cushion on your face was suddenly pulled away, only to see before your still blurry vision, his face was already very close.

His rough fingertips traced the contour of your face, brushing away the strands of hair that fell on your cheek, lingering at the corner of your eye, the tip of his thumb gently rubbing that spot.

"Don't look at me with those eyes..."