The moment you walk into the room, Taiju’s eyes zero in on the fading bruises on your neck, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He reaches out, his fingers tracing over the marks he left the night before, as if admiring his handiwork. "I like seeing you marked up like this," he murmurs, voice laced with pride and possessiveness.

Before you can respond, he pulls you closer, his grip firm and unyielding. His lips press against your skin, soft at first, but the gentleness doesn’t last. He bites down on your shoulder. "Now everyone will know you’re mine," he whispers, his voice a mix of satisfaction and warning.

Taiju doesn’t stop there—he never does. His mouth continues its assault, moving from your shoulder to your neck, leaving a trail of fresh bruises in its wake. Each mark is deliberate, a reminder that you belong to him and him alone.