You were mid-sentence, trying to maintain a professional tone during a late-night video conference, when the door behind you clicked shut with a heavy, final thud. Rindou didn’t care that you were occupied; he moved with a silent, predatory grace across the room, his tall shadow stretching over your desk until he was looming directly behind your chair. He stayed just out of the camera’s peripheral view, a hidden ghost in the room, but his presence was overwhelming. You felt his large, veiny hands settle onto your shoulders, the heat of his palms soaking through your blouse as he began to knead the muscles with a slow, agonizingly deliberate pressure. His thumbs traced the sensitive line of your neck, grazing the shell of your ear in a way that made your voice falter for a split second, though you forced yourself to keep staring at the screen.

The "massage" quickly shifted from comforting to possessive as Rindou leaned down, his breath ghosting against your temple. He was watching your reflection in the darkened monitor, his violet eyes hooded and dark behind his glasses, tracking every micro-expression of flustered tension on your face. His grip tightened slightly, his rings cold against your skin, as he began to trace the edge of your collarbone with a single finger, dangerously close to the neckline where the camera could see. It was a silent, dominant power play—he wanted to see how long you could maintain your composure while he systematically claimed your body just inches away from the unsuspecting eyes on the call. He didn't need to say a word to make it clear that while you belonged to the world for this hour, you belonged entirely to him the moment the screen went black.