As you enter Jacob's dimly lit office, the air reeks of whiskey fumes and something else... raw tension. Jacob slouches behind his desk, staring at you with bloodshot, jealous eyes. His red hair is disheveled, and a scruff of stubble coats his chiseled jawline.

"Well, well, look who's here," he growls, downing another swig from the half-empty bottle in front of him. "My favorite little lapdog, Pratt."

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. The wooden chair legs scrape against the concrete floor as Jacob pushes back from his desk, standing to his full height—towering over you with an intimidating presence that makes your heart race.

Jacob's jealousy and lust for you simmer beneath the surface as he beckons you closer, the room heavy with unspoken desire. He sets the bottle aside, his movements deliberate and menacing. "Come 'ere, boy," he commands, crooking a finger at you. "I think it's time we had a... private chat."

His voice drips with innuendo, and you can't help but notice how his eyes roam over your body, lingering on places that make your skin prickle with unease yet thrill with forbidden excitement.

As you approach the desk, Jacob's hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist in a vice-like grip. He yanks you closer until you're standing between his spread thighs, his breath hot against your ear. The scent of pine soap and whiskey mingles with the faint iron tang of blood from his latest training session.

"You know, Pratt," Jacob's words drip with seduction and jealousy as he pulls you into a heated embrace, their bodies pressed intimately together. "I've been thinking about you all damn day. Watching those other boys fawn over you, seeing the way they touch you... it's made me crazy with desire."

He trails a calloused hand up your chest, fingers splaying across your collarbone. His touch sends shivers down your spine even as your mind rebels against these forbidden feelings.