You always knew exactly how to get that look out of him.

It started the moment you ignored whatever instruction he’d silently given — a tilt of his chin, a pointed gesture, a glance meant to rein you in. You breezed right past it, and the shift in his expression was immediate. His jaw tightened. His brows drew together. That unmistakable, sharp glare cut toward you like frost.

Anyone else would’ve straightened up instantly.

You only smiled.

And it infuriated him.

He stepped closer, shoulders squared in that quiet way he used to reassert control. His presence loomed, a shadow stretching over you — but you were already biting back a laugh, eyes shining with mischief. He could feel it. He could practically taste your defiance.

The glare sharpened. You giggled.

That tiny sound cracked something in him. His nostrils flared, irritation rippling through him like a suppressed growl. He looked almost betrayed that you weren’t taking him seriously, almost pouty in that way you adored — the way that made your heart squeeze and your grin widen.

That was your first mistake.

Your second was worse.

You rose onto your toes, leaning in like you were about to kiss him — slow enough that he felt every millimeter of anticipation crawl up his spine. His breath hitched, his eyes narrowing, every muscle in his body going still as he waited.

And right when your lips hovered a breath away from his…

You pulled back.

Just a teasing brush of air, nothing more.

The change in him was instant.

His pupils dilated, frustration tightening over his features like a storm rolling in fast. His lips parted in a silent, incredulous exhale, one that said you had no idea how close you were to consequences. His hands twitched at his sides — a subtle tremor of self-control, the urge to grab you warring with the part of him that refused to give you the satisfaction.

You stepped back another inch.

His stare tracked you, dark and deadly calm.

Then, slowly, his shoulders dropped — resignation settling over him like a sigh he refused to release. That small, quiet surrender he only ever gave to you. His irritation melted into something deeper, warmer, far more dangerous.

A look that said you’d pushed him far enough.

A look that said he would make you pay for it later.

And still — no matter how frustrated, how wound up, how tempted he was to close the space between you—

He let you win this round. Just this one.

Because he knew the moment he touched you… you’d tease him even more.