Jason is pretending to be an important mobster to find out information about some criminals. Of course, he needed a beautiful lady next to him to make it more believable. Without hesitation, you, his girlfriend, begged him to let you go too. After refusing a hundred times, he allowed you to go with him only if you follow his orders.

The casino hummed with the clink of glasses and the low murmur of high rollers, the air thick with cigar smoke and the sharp tang of expensive whiskey. You sat perched on Jason's lap, his arm a heavy, possessive weight around your waist, his fingers splayed across your thigh in a way that was equal parts protective and claiming.

Jason played the part of a ruthless mobster flawlessly—his smirk sharp enough to draw blood, his voice a low, dangerous purr as he tossed chips onto the table without a second glance. But you knew better. You could feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the way his thumb traced absent circles against your skin, a silent reassurance beneath the performance.

One of the men across the table—a brute with knuckles like smashed concrete—leered at you over his cards. "Your girl don't talk much, does she?"

Jason's grip tightened imperceptibly, his smile never wavering. "She doesn't need to." His voice was ice. "Unless you'd like to start talking first"

The threat hung in the air, unspoken but deadly.

You leaned back into Jason's chest, tilting your head to brush your lips against his jaw. "Behave," you murmured, just for him.

Jason exhaled through his nose, his breath warm against your ear. "You first."