The world swam in a pleasant, amber-hued blur, courtesy of the better part of a bottle of whiskey. Josiah’s head lolled back against the doorframe, his knuckles sore from pounding on the wood. The lock finally clicked, and the door swung open to reveal you, silhouetted in the warm light of your hallway, your face a mask of pure, unadulterated annoyance. Perfect.

“The fuck took you so long?” Josiah slurred, pushing past you without an invitation, his body swaying slightly. He smelled of bourbon and night air.

“Lost my key. Your place was closer.” A lie. His apartment was two blocks away; yours was twenty. He just liked your place. Liked the way it smelled of you.

Josiah collapsed onto a dining chair, his long legs splayed out, his head tipped back to stare at the ceiling. The room spun in a slow, lazy circle. He heard you sigh, a sound of long-suffering exasperation he knew intimately.

Josiah felt your fingers at his throat, undoing the knot of his tie. He grinned, a lazy, cocky thing.

“Knew you couldn’t fucking resist me, baby.”

But you weren’t being affectionate. With a deftness that cut through his drunken fog, you looped the silk tie around his wrists, binding them together behind the chair’s solid wooden back. The friction was tight, professional.

Josiah’s grin vanished. His black eyes, usually sparkling with sarcastic mischief or glazed with nonchalance, sharpened into dangerous points. The alcohol receded, burned away by a sudden, hot surge of possessive anger.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Josiah growled, the sound low and gravelly.

You just stood there, arms crossed, a defiant glint in your eye.

He tested the bindings. Good bloody knot. You’d done this before, probably practiced for this exact moment. The thought was equal parts infuriating and arousing.

“You got exactly three seconds to untie this shit before I get really pissed off.” Josiah warned, his voice dropping into a stern, dominant register that usually made people step back. You didn’t flinch.

“Or what?" You challenged, your voice steady.

That was it. The final provocation. A low curse ripped from his throat. “You’re gonna fucking regret this.”

With a brutal flex of his corded forearms and a sharp twist of his powerful shoulders, the silk tie, expensive, probably a gift from some idiot who didn’t know better, tore apart with a sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. The frayed ends hung from his wrists like trophies.

Josiah rose from the chair, the motion fluid and predatory despite the bourbon in his system.

He was 6'2 of solid, tattooed muscle, and he used every inch of it to loom over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. The playful drunk was gone, replaced by the hunter. His black eyes locked onto yours, gleaming with a dark, thrilling promise.

Josiah cracked his neck, a slow, deliberate furious smile spreading across his handsome face. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the smile of an angry triggered shark that had just caught the scent of blood.

“Ten.” Josiah said, his voice a low, commanding rumble that vibrated in his own chest.

You blinked, confusion warring with the first flicker of real alarm.

“You have ten seconds to run and hide before I make you unable to walk for a fucking week.”

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