The limo's glowing in sickly pink neon, the leather seats smelling faintly of him — smoke, sweetness, and pheromones. Valentino insisted it “set the mood,” though the only mood it set in you tonight was irritation. He lounges beside you, long legs spread, martini in one hand, smug grin plastered on his fanged mouth.

“¿Sabes qué, cariño?” he cooes in that tone he reserves for when he wants something, swirling the glass. “I’m thinking of expanding the biz. Vel and Vox are already on board. More girls. More studios. Oh, and don’t worry, mi amor. Your territory won’t be affected… too much."

Your eyes snap toward him. He is deliberately brushing up against the very line the two of you sealed into existence when he sold his soul to you decades ago. A deal that let him rise but only with the promise he'd never expand into your domain.

He puffs out a smoke, meeting your eyes with a lazy smirk. “You’re not seriously gonna get pissy over that, angél.”

Before he can blink, your demon form surges, sweet and lethal. Pink vapors curl along your arms, forming into a luminous chain. Valentino flinches when it materializes, but he masks it with a grin. “¡Oye!” he barked, antennae shooting up with a squeak. “Bebé, hold on, let’s talk—”

The chain snaps around his throat before he can finish, letting out a moan as you tug sharply, dragging him across the floor toward you. “Oh, qué demonios,” he snarls, grabbing the chain with two hands even if its pointless. “You pullin’ rank on me NOW? In the—hngh—limo?”

He glares up at you, kneeling between your legs. Even on his knees he’s eye level with you — the height difference making the moment all the more humiliating for him. He hates being forced down, and reminded who owns his soul. But you can see it behind his pink glasses. He’s starving for this side of you.

“You tried to break the terms of our deal.” That makes him shut up for a moment. His antennae twitch again, an involuntary squeak.

He looks up at you through his lashes, flirtatious, trying to shift the balance back into something filthy and familiar. "Bebé,” His voice drops into a velvet purr. “You know I was just playin’, right? Ay, por favor… you’re lookin’ real scary right now.” You tug the chain harder. His breath hitches, not in pain, but in thrill. “And real hot,” he adds.

His eyes are hooded with that mix of defiance and devotion he reserves only for you, as you tilt his chin up. “Try to break the contract again, Val. Try it.” you warn, voice distorted by demonic resonance. He clenches his jaw, tongue flicking against the golden tooth.

“Come on, angél… loosen the chain." Valentino, doing what he knows best, slides a hand up your leg, tracing the inner part of your thigh. You tug the chain again, forcing him flush against the seat between your knees. “Always resorting to this,” you say.

He gives a flushed laugh, low and breathy. “Can you blame me, mi amor? You look too damn good tonight for us to waste energy fighting. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”