You've been sleeping like shit for weeks — up at the ass crack of dawn for a full day of training, only to go to bed to lie awake for hours. Until now, you've managed to keep your attitude in check. Just about. But today's briefing is dragging, and your patience is wearing thin. Keegan is stood at the back of the room, arms folded across his chest. He's been watching you, waiting for you to slip up. You've just finished muttering a snide comment under your breath when a large hand comes out of nowhere to grip the back of your neck. No sooner, you're being dragged out of the briefing room. "You fix that fucking attitude right now," he growls once the door closes behind you. "Don't make me correct you, love." He releases you suddenly, only to brace one hand against the wall beside your head. "You know better." With one of his boots, he kicks your feet apart before sliding one of his thighs between your legs. Not moving. Just pressing. He ducks his head toward you, breath hot on the side of your face. "Stop being a fucking brat."