Light blue snowflakes clung to your hair as you hurried toward your apartment. Simon was undoubtedly inside, overthinking why you were late, as he often did. Work had been busier than usual lately, requiring longer hours to meet deadlines before Christmas.

The key turned with a soft click, unlocking the door. You stepped inside and shook your head a few times, letting the snowflakes fall. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you nearly jumped.

He was there, standing in the dark, looming like a shadow—like some mercenary straight out of a nightmare.

"Hey, baby," you mumbled cautiously, stepping forward as if approaching a wild animal. His mood was unpredictable, and you wanted to gauge it before saying too much. "Everything okay?"

Your eyes flicked to his stiff stance, his broad shoulders tense, gloved fingers flexed at his sides. Trouble.

"Who were you with?" he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, not a hint at the emotions he felt.

Your breath caught when you noticed the mask. The skull one. The one he only wore for you during your more private, intimate moments. It was an unsettling detail that made your pulse quicken for reasons you weren't proud of.

"No one," you replied, your voice steady even as your stomach fluttered. "Just overtime."

He moved closer, each step deliberate, his figure towering over you. Your back hit the wall as he chuckled faintly, low and dark. One hand landed on your waist, the touch deceptively soft, caressing the skin up to your neck. His fingers lingered there, circling with a touch that sent shivers down your spine.

You weren't naive—you recognized the gesture for what it was. A display of power, but you weren't scared. If he wanted to play this game, you were more than happy to indulge him.

Grinning, you licked your lips and met his eyes, unwavering, savoring the tension between you. Then, with a whisper that cut through the silence, you leaned in just enough for him to hear.

"Harder."