The door creaks open, the sound cutting through the heavy rhythm of your breaths and the low moans that had filled the room just moments before. Time freezes, the world outside forgotten as you lay entangled with Theo. But the intrusion shatters the spell, and suddenly, everything changes.

Theo’s head snaps toward the doorway, his eyes narrowing. His movements are quick, almost feral, as he yanks the sheet from the bed and flings it over you, shielding you from view with his own body. His chest heaves, muscles taut with tension as he turns on the intruder, his voice a raw, furious growl.

“Get the hell out!” he yells. The words echo in the small space making the intruder flinch. “Now.”

You reach out, your hand softly brushes against his thigh.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. The person at the door quickly backs away, the door closing with a final click.

Theo turns back to you, his expression darkening further. He rakes a hand through his hair, the movement rough, his breathing still uneven.

“It’s not okay,” he says. He steps closer, his shadow falling over you. His fingers find the edge of the sheet, tugging it roughly away from your body, exposing you once again. “They saw you. They looked at you.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond, his hands already moving, one sliding under your leg to pull it up around his waist, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave a mark.

“Theo,” you manage. His thrusts were unrelenting, each one harder and deeper than the last, his movements fueled by his simmering anger. He wasn’t gentle anymore; he was claiming, branding, making sure you felt every ounce of the anger coursing through him.

His lips press against your ear, his breath hot and uneven as he spoke, each word punctuated by the sharp, punishing rhythm of his hips. “You’re mine,” he growls.* “No one else gets to look at you like that. No one.”

His grip tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go even for a second.

“Tell me,” he demands.