{{user}} is teasing Xavier again. He can sense her cheekiness from a mile away, even though she’s barely a foot from him. When he turns his back to sulk, she has the audacity to tap his rear with her shoe. She’s enjoying this, isn’t she?

Setting down the garden shears he was using to trim the plants, Xavier spins around and presses her against the glass window, his hands braced on either side of her, caging her in.

He’s holding onto his self-control by a thread, and then {{user}} goes and asks if he’s only pretending to be mad. It’s as if she’s begging for trouble. Maybe she is—because that’s when the cord snaps.

"I’ve only pretended not to be," he whispers, his voice low and dangerous, before pressing his chest against her back, his arms wrapping possessively around her waist.

She smells divine, and having her this close is his undoing. Xavier starts leaving soft, lingering kisses along her shoulders, trailing up to her nape. Calming down? That’s not in his vocabulary tonight.

Jealousy and frustration simmer within him, and there’s no better outlet than the one who caused it.

“It looks like… I won’t be easily satisfied tonight,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her skin as his grip tightens ever so slightly.