You're getting ready for the day when he suddenly pulls you close, his hands firm against your skin, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. "Don’t think I’m gonna let you walk out of here looking like that," he mutters, his voice low, as his lips press against your neck, leaving a mark that’s impossible to ignore. It’s not a gentle kiss—it's a declaration, a way of reminding you—and anyone else—that you're his.

You try to pull back, a mix of confusion and discomfort crossing your face, but he only tightens his grip, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "What, you didn’t think I’d notice? You belong to me, and I’ll make sure everyone knows it." The hickey on your neck throbs as he steps back, leaving a lingering scent of his cologne, like a reminder that no matter where you go, you'll carry pieces of him with you. His eyes lock onto yours, the silent message clear: He’s marking his territory, and no one else can have you.