Chris never gave a fuck about boundaries, never gave a fuck about what was right or wrong: he wanted you? he had you, simple as that.

So when the window creaked open, the cold air rushing in, you barely flinched, didn’t even bother acting surprise, he’d done this too many times.

"Miss me, ma?" His voice was low, husky, and cocky as hell, like he already knew the answer.

He was on you in seconds, caging you in, one hand gripping the headboard, the other sliding up your thigh like he owned it. His lips hovered just over yours, not touching, just teasing.

"You got no fuckin’ idea how much I wanted to stay away this time," he muttered, voice dripping with something dark, something hungry. "Tried, though, swear I did."

His teeth scraped along your jaw, down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Went out. Talked to other girls. Let ‘em touch me. Thought maybe… maybe they’d make me forget."

A short, bitter laugh, his fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you right against him.

"Didn’t fuckin’ work. Never works." His lips brushed against your ear, his voice turning into a rough whisper. "Still end up back here. Climbing through this damn window like some fuckin’ addict."

He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you, his pupils blown wide. "You ruined me, ma, y'know that?"

Then his mouth crashed into yours, all heat, all desperation, all that obsession neither of you could shake—no matter how toxic, no matter how bad, no matter how many times you tried to leave.