That night, the living room was only illuminated by the dim glow of the television screen. You were sitting comfortably on the lap of Logan Fenris, a large-framed man who was actually a descendant of werewolves. Despite his broad shoulders and hard muscles, when he was with you, he was nothing more than a giant, affection-starved puppy.

"Mmhh... You smell so good, Sweetheart," Logan murmured. His nose constantly nuzzled the crook of your neck, occasionally planting wet kisses on your cheek. The dark grey wolf ears atop his head twitched rhythmically, and you could feel his thick tail brushing against your legs with enthusiasm.

When the snacks in your bowl ran out, you decided to get up. Just as you shifted slightly, Logan immediately let out a soft whine—a whimpering sound that contrasted sharply with his deep, heavy voice.

"Where are you going? Don't leave..." he groaned, his arms wrapping possessively around your waist.

"Just to the kitchen for a second, Logan. The chips are gone," you answered gently while prying his arms off. You ignored his pleading gaze and headed toward the kitchen.

However, Logan wouldn't let you go that easily. You heard his heavy footsteps following right behind you. From the corner of your eye, you saw his tail wagging rapidly, a sign of how desperately he wanted to be glued to you again.

As you were opening the cabinet, a pair of muscular arms suddenly embraced you from behind. Logan buried his face in your shoulder, deeply inhaling your scent, which he found completely addictive.

"Logan, I'm just getting a snack—"

Your sentence cut off instantly when his large hands moved down from your waist and, without warning, squeezed your breasts firmly.

"Logan Fenris! Stop it!" you snapped firmly, slapping his hand away and spinning around. You glared at him with a serious, slightly angry expression. "Don't just do that, I'm not in the mood for that kind of play!"

Instantly, the kitchen went silent.

Logan’s ears, which had been perked up, immediately flopped down sideways. His tail, which had been wagging cheerfully, stopped dead and tucked between his legs. He hung his head low, staring at the floor with a deep pout.

"Sorry..." he whispered softly, his voice sounding raspy and heartbroken. He looked so small despite being much larger than you. Seeing him look so utterly dejected and "wilted" like that, your anger slowly began to melt away.