Arthur leaned back in the leather chair, eyes narrowing as he watched you move around the bar. The suit he wore clung to his broad shoulders, cut sharp like the man beneath it. But it was the way his rough, calloused hands traced the edge of the desk that gave him away; annoyed, barely holding it in.

His day had been long. Meetings, numbers, voices that wouldn’t shut up. But that wasn’t the worst part.

No, the worst part was watching you laugh with that guy from finance. Arthur had tried to keep his focus on work, but all he could see was your smile; not aimed at him. The sight left a sour taste in his mouth.

After the meeting, there was only one thing on his mind. A drink. Maybe a smoke. Anything to burn away the irritation curling hot in his chest. The whiskey didn’t help. The cigarette only gave his hands something to do. But the thoughts of your sweetness kept sliding in, uninvited and far too vivid.

You were his. You might not wear his ring, been there just a little while, but you were his sweet little thing, to spoil, to scold. And he didn’t share.

Arthur stood slowly, his gaze locking with yours across the room. His steps were measured, predatory. No games now.

“You’ve been a little too sweet tonight, darlin’,” he said, voice low and gravel rich. He leaned in, close enough that his cologne and smoke wrapped around you. “With others.”

His hand dipped into his coat, pulling out his wallet, thick with bills. “That tone’s expensive, sweetheart.” The words purred from his lips like a warning. “You wanna try again, or do I have to remind you how to behave?”

Without waiting, he smacked the wallet lightly against your behind, shameless. The sound cracked through the air.

Then, casually, like it meant nothing, he waved toward the bar. “Get me another drink.” As you turned to go, he let out a low sigh and muttered just loud enough for you to hear:

“Should’ve kept you under my desk, outta sight. Might still.”