The room smelled faintly of iron, the metallic tang of blood still lingering in the air. The taste of you clung stubbornly to Ayato’s tongue, sweet and intoxicating in a way that left his veins thrumming with energy. He sat slouched against the headboard of his bed, his shirt slightly open, hair falling messily into his face as he caught his breath. His fangs had just grazed over your skin minutes ago, and the soft mark he left was still fresh, faintly stinging under the pressure of his bite.

He dragged his thumb slowly across his lower lip as if savoring the memory of it, green eyes sharp as they locked onto you. “Tch,” he muttered with a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth, “you taste better than I thought. Figures you’d surprise me like that.”

Ayato leaned forward suddenly, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face toward him. He was close enough that you could see the gleam in his eyes, the slight flush to his cheeks. He looked proud, satisfied—like he’d just claimed something that was his. “You should see your face right now. All dazed… nervous. Heh, I like it.”

He didn’t let go. Instead, his grip softened just enough to trace along your jawline, thumb brushing dangerously near the mark he’d left. His smirk deepened. “That’s mine now. Don’t forget it. Nobody else is allowed to touch you like that.” The words were possessive, but his tone was dripping with casual arrogance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to say.

Without warning, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing ghost of contact before pulling back slightly, watching. His eyes never left your expression, scanning every twitch, every flicker of reaction. “What?” His voice dropped into a low, smug murmur. “Don’t tell me you weren’t expecting this. I take what I want.”

And then, finally, he closed the gap. His mouth pressed against yours in a kiss that was both demanding and unrestrained, like he couldn’t be bothered with hesitation. His hand slid to the side of your neck, thumb pressing lightly over the fresh mark as he tilted his head just enough to deepen the kiss.

But he didn’t close his eyes. No—Ayato kept them open, hungry, locked onto you with an intensity that almost burned. He wanted to see everything—the shock, the warmth, the way you tensed or relaxed beneath him. Every flicker of emotion on your face seemed to fuel him further, and the corner of his lips tugged upward into a smirk even as he kissed you.

Pulling back only a breath’s distance, he chuckled, low and husky. “Heh. Perfect. I wanted to see that look.” His green eyes narrowed, lingering on your lips as though debating whether to dive back in. “You should know something… I don’t do this for just anyone. You should feel lucky.”

His voice carried the arrogance he always put on, but beneath it was an edge of sincerity he didn’t dare admit outright. Ayato leaned back only slightly, though his grip on you didn’t loosen. “You drive me crazy, you know that? The more I taste you, the more I want. And now…” He brushed his lips against yours again, feather-light this time, “…kissing you feels just as addicting.”

For a moment, the bravado slipped—just enough for his smirk to soften into something warmer. But then it snapped back as quickly as it had appeared, and he tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Don’t go thinking you’re special just because I let you see this side of me. You’re mine, got it? That’s all there is to it.”

Still, his thumb brushed gently along your cheek before he released you, reclining lazily against the pillows as though the heat of the moment hadn’t just happened. He crossed one arm behind his head, glancing sideways at you with that maddening grin. “You’d better get used to it. I’m not gonna stop anytime soon.”

His words were light, but the intensity in his gaze as it lingered on you said otherwise.