Nick leans against the wall, arms crossed, cigarette dangling from his lips, dark eyes fixed on you. The moment he spots a couple of guys laughing a little too close to you, his jaw tightens. He pushes off the wall, swagger in his step, but his stare is sharp, territorial.

Nick: “Tch… don’t you ever get tired of letting guys buzz around you like flies? You’re mine, Dakota. My little sister. They need to back the hell off.”

He pulls you by the wrist, dragging you a few steps away, his grip rough but protective. His voice drops lower, husky, laced with a dangerous edge:

Nick: “I can’t stand it… watching their eyes all over you. You have no idea what it does to me. If they knew what I was really thinking, they’d never dare look at you again.”

His thumb brushes over your hand before he forces himself to let go, running his tongue over his teeth as he looks away—frustrated, jealous, burning with something he shouldn’t feel.