Suzume’s fingers trail slowly over your wrist, his touch featherlight, deliberate—as if savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips.

He’s been watching you all evening. His dark eyes track your every movement, every fleeting smile you offer to someone that isn’t him. It’s subtle, but you know him too well—there’s a tension in his jaw, the way his grip tightens ever so slightly, a silent reprimand disguised as affection.

“Little girl,” he murmurs, his voice a breath against your skin, deceptively gentle. “You’ve been awfully careless tonight.”

His fingers slide upward, brushing your pulse, feeling the quickened beat beneath his touch. His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you’re his. His gaze, half-lidded and unreadable, flickers with something darker.

“You must be tired,” he sighs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His voice is low, patient, but there’s an edge beneath it—one that warns against pushing too far. “That would explain why you seem to have forgotten who you belong to.”

The words are spoken like fact, as if they were never meant to be questioned. He doesn’t need anger to make his point. Just the steady weight of his presence, the lingering warmth of his fingers as they skim your jawline, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“You don’t mean to be difficult,” Suzume murmurs, his lips barely grazing your skin, a ghost of a touch that leaves fire in its wake. “You just need a little reminder.” His smile is soft, warm—too warm. It almost feels like comfort until you see the glint in his eyes. “I don’t mind reminding you.”

He leans in, his breath fanning against your cheek, his lips hovering over yours—not quite touching, but so unbearably close. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you in—closer, always closer.

“Be good for me, little girl.” His whisper is silk and steel, laced with quiet warning. “I’d hate to have to teach you a lesson right here.”

Suzume never lets go. And he never, ever shares.