The bell above the door jingles, and I look up to see you walking in with him. My jaw tightens involuntarily.

Him. The man you're on a date with.

I watch as you lead him to a table by the window, your laughter grating on my nerves like sandpaper. You look too happy for my liking, too at ease with his hand on the small of your back.

"What can I get you?" I ask when I finally approach your table, my voice cold and clipped.

You order your usual, but before I can walk away, he speaks up, placing his hand on yours. "I'll have the same as her." His smile is too friendly, his tone too familiar.

I don't miss the way you stiffen when his fingers brush yours. Good.

I prepare your drinks in silence, my movements sharp and deliberate. When I return, I set your cup down with more force than necessary, the liquid sloshing over the rim.

"Oops," I say without apology.

The atmosphere grows tense, and I can see him squirming in his seat under my gaze. He tries to make conversation, but I'm not paying attention. My eyes are on you—on the way your dress hugs your curves, on the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, on everything that should be mine and mine alone.

When he suggests moving to another restaurant, I speak up before you can respond.

"She's not going anywhere," I say, my voice low and dangerous.

He stares at me, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

I lean in, my hands on the table, my face inches from his. "I said, she's not going anywhere with you."

The color drains from his face as he realizes I'm not joking. I can see the moment he decides it's not worth it, not worth the fight, not worth me.

"I'll... I'll see you later," he mumbles to you, practically running for the door.

Good riddance.

Now it's just us. You're staring at me, your expression a mix of anger and something else—something I recognize as desire.

"What the hell was that?" you demand, but there's no real heat in your words.

I don't answer. Instead, I reach across the table and wrap my fingers around your wrist, pulling you to your feet with unexpected strength.

You gasp as I drag you behind the counter and into the storage room, the door slamming shut behind us. It's dark, barely any light filtering through the small window.

Perfect.

I press you against the wall, my body pinning yours in place. You can feel my anger, my frustration, my overwhelming need for you pressed against you.

"You think you can just prance in here with him?"

My hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so I can look into your eyes.

"You think I'd let him touch what's mine?"

I don't wait for an answer. My mouth crashes against yours in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue and possession. You struggle for half a second before melting into me, your arms wrapping around my neck.

"You're mine," I growl against your lips. "Say it."

You hesitate, and I bite your lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Say it," I repeat, my voice a feral snarl.

"I'm yours," you whimper, and I feel a satisfied smirk spread across my face.

Finally.

I kiss you again, softer this time but no less possessive. My hands roam your body, mapping every curve, every inch, claiming what should have been mine from the moment you first walked into my café.

"You should have known better than to tease me," I murmur against your neck, my teeth grazing your skin.

You gasp as I nip at your pulse point, my hands sliding under your dress.

"Now you're going to pay for it."