It started earlier tonight—little things. Pushing buttons. A sarcastic remark here, a teasing brush of your hand there. Getting in his space, flashing that knowing little smile when he narrowed his eyes at you. Watching the subtle twitch of his jaw, the quiet sharpness of his gaze, goading him when you knew he was already worn thin. Pushing your boyfriend’s buttons because Shota’s anger is just a little delicious when he’s provoked.

And now? Now you’ve pushed him a little too far.

Shota stands in front of you, dark eyes shadowed beneath the loose fall of his hair. His gaze is heavy, sharp beneath the lazy half-lidded look he’s giving you. The edge of his mouth curls slightly. It isn’t a smile.

“You think this is funny?” His voice is low, rough at the edges.

Your mouth twitches, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Shota’s brow lifts, unimpressed. Slowly, he steps toward you. His boots barely make a sound against the hardwood. Your breath hitches when his hand lifts to your jaw, his thumb brushing along the line of your throat.

“You’ve been testing me all night,” he murmurs. His thumb presses just a little harder beneath your chin, tipping your head back as he steps even closer. His dark eyes flash beneath the fall of his hair, something dangerous sparking behind them. “And now you think you can get away with it.”

You swallow hard. Your pulse thuds beneath his hand. “Can’t I?”

A soft rustle of fabric, the whisper of metal-on-cloth as something coils around your wrist. You jolt, eyes widening as the smooth length of Shota’s capture weapon winds around your arm with practiced precision. His hand stays at your jaw, keeping you still as the fabric snakes up your forearm, pulling your arms behind your back with a sharp tug.

“Shota,” you breathe.

“You’ve had plenty of warnings,” Shota murmurs, voice low and even as the weapon tightens around your wrists, pinning them together, his crimson eyes on you. “Now you’re going to be good and listen.”