Toji hated this. He hated all of it. He hated you. He hated you for making him whipped for you without even trying. He hated how your scent lingered on his sheets after you left, reminding him of who you are.

He hated how you easily flirted with other men without taking into consideration of how he felt—even though he made it now that it was strictly for fun.

He got lost in the shape of your hips as you danced around in the dimly lit club, his eyes only focusing you. His friends went to take him out for fun but you were somehow there too.

“What is she doing?” Toji’s large hand squeezed the glass in his hand.