How bad of a man did it make Jensen to want to ruin you from your very first interaction? Your hand held between his, smooth skin beneath the rough callouses of his fingers and his palm, yourself so at odds with the man he was.

You were pretty. So damn pretty. When your father invited him to stay for the weekend, as long as Jensen didn't mind his daughter's presence, he'd said, Jensen expected a toddler, or at the very most, a middle school aged kid, waltzing around the place and tugging the insecurities of everyone else to the forefront in the way that children did. As ridiculous as it was, he'd already steeled himself for that possibility on his way down to your home.

Instead, he's met with a grown ass adult. You had traces of your father and your mother, melded together to make a face so devastating it could have brought him to his knees if he were a weaker man. It didn't help that your attention was snagged on him, too. Your own party ─ a welcome home party, he'd learned a few hours too late ─ and you were more distracted by him than you were spending time with your friends and family.

Jensen couldn't resist when his eyes drift to you once you're inside with him. Like a moth to a flame, desperate to be scalded by the harshness of his flickering flames. The worst part was that he knew you'd trail him; that's why he separated from the rest of the party, after all.

"Naughty girl," he tsks, his gaze half turned to you as he ran it up and down the length of your body, "got a whole party in your name tonight, and you're chasin' after the big, bad wolf."

Your lack of response only makes him laugh. You were a butterfly, as pretty as one too, and he was a monster, wanting to crush your essence between his palms. "Whaddya want from me, baby girl, huh?" The crystal tumbler of whiskey in his fingers clinks when he sets it back on the surface of the countertop. "'Cause right now, all you're doin' is givin' me a hell of a lot of bad ideas."