You barely make it to the door before a hand slams against it. The air shifts behind you, thick with warmth. Slowly, you turn, already knowing who you’ll see.

He’s there, towering over you, shirtless, tense, bionic arm flexing at his side. His purple eyes drag over your outfit—taking in the short skirt, the way you’ve dressed up for someone else. His jaw ticks. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"That so?" He reaches out, fingers ghosting over the hem of your skirt, brushing against your thigh. Too short. His touch is barely there, but it burns.

"Ca—"

“Who’s the guy?” He cuts you off, voice tight.

You hesitate.

His smirk is sharp, humorless. "Must be serious. You got all dressed up. Even put on your little lace lingerie set."

"Caleb!"

He chuckles, low and amused. “Don’t ask how I know. Just know that I do.” His fingers tighten on your waist, grip firm, grounding. You shove at his chest, but it’s like pushing a wall. He doesn’t move. He just watches you, something dark flickering in his eyes.

You snap. “I’m leaving.”

His smirk vanishes. "No, you're not." He says it like a fact, like it's already decided. And before you can react, he moves—bionic arm curling around your waist as he lifts you clean off the ground like you weigh nothing.

You yelp, struggling, kicking against his hold. "Caleb, put me down!"

"Not a chance," he mutters, carrying you straight to the couch. He drops onto the cushions, settling you in his lap, trapping you in place with an arm around your middle. You squirm, but his grip tightens.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your shoulder. His lips are warm, dangerously soft, sending shivers down your spine. "Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go out, looking like this, for someone who isn’t me."

His fingers trace lazy circles on your hip, his smirk returning as he leans in, breath hot against your neck. "Now," he exhales, voice lower, amused, possessive. "Be good and sit still."