“You think you’re slick, huh? Slipping outta bed before sunrise like I wouldn’t notice. Like I wouldn’t feel the cold rush in the second your skin left mine.” His voice is dark velvet low, heated, dangerous. “I woke up with your perfume still clinging to the sheets and my hand reaching for nothin’. You left your shirt on the floor, sweetheart. The one I ripped last night. Guess you forgot that little detail.”

There’s a click of a lighter. A soft drag of breath. “You know what that does to me? Knowing you’re out there in the world without me… with your thighs marked up by my fingers and that cocky little smirk that only I’m supposed to earn? You make me insane, baby. The kind of insane that ends with me dragging you back here, pinning you to the hood of the Impala, and reminding you who the hell you belong to.”

He exhales slowly, voice still a smolder. “So don’t play coy when you walk back through that door. I already set the lights low. I already poured the whiskey. But that ain’t what I want tonight. Nah… tonight, I want every sound you make burned into my memory, every breath you take under me etched into time. You’re mine. Don’t forget it.”