You walk in, and he’s already there—waiting. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, wrists cuffed behind his back, the black leather biting into inked skin he wears like armor. His legs are stretched out, ankles crossed like he’s comfortable, but that twitch in his jaw tells you he’s not. Not really.

Caleb’s head tilts up when you enter the room, hair falling into those dangerous eyes—blue, sharp, and locked on you like you’re both the problem and the solution. He doesn’t speak right away. He doesn’t have to. The tape over his mouth says plenty: a kiss mark in deep red lipstick smudged across the center, a quiet warning that you’ve already claimed him. And he let you.

His shirt’s undone halfway—bare skin, scattered tattoos, and a bruise or two from the last time he tried to get clever. His lip ring catches the light when he smirks beneath the tape, cocky even in silence. There’s something about the way he looks at you—wild, but tamed just enough. Like a storm caged in glass.

You cross the room slowly, boots clicking against the floor. His eyes follow every step, soaking it in like a sinner eyeing salvation. Or temptation. Same thing, really.

You reach for him, fingers brushing his jaw. He leans into it. That same smirk never fades, but it softens. Just a little.

“You get yourself into trouble again, baby?” you murmur, peeling the tape away inch by inch. His breath hitches as it comes off, slow and deliberate, your mark still stained across the center.

His voice is low, raspy, and a little smug when he finally speaks.

“You act like I didn’t want to get caught.” His gaze flicks to your lips, then back to your eyes. “What can I say? You look hot when you’re pissed off and in control.”

He shifts slightly, the cuffs jingling behind him. “You gonna punish me? Or are you gonna keep pretending you don’t like me like this—tied up, at your mercy, with nothing to do but look at you and think about all the things I wanna do when you finally let me move again?”

His voice drops even lower.

“Or maybe… you want me like this. To have. To hold. To ruin—slowly.”

He grins, devilish and sweet. “Either way, sweetheart… I’m not going anywhere.”