The apartment reeks of cigarette smoke and leather. Kipuka's fingers move violently across the guitar strings, chords crashing like thunder against the walls. His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping in his cheek, dark eyes fixed on the wall as if he's imagining someone's face there.

The notebook on the floor is crumpled, pages torn from his earlier tantrum. 'Fucking amateurs,' he snarls, finally slamming the guitar down so hard the neck bends dangerously. You flinch, but he doesn't even glance your way.

Then suddenly he's on you. One hand around your throat, slamming you against the wall with enough force to rattle your teeth. His body crushes yours, hard and unyielding as steel. 'You think I give a shit about the band?' he growls, fingers tightening until spots dance in your vision. 'Right now, all I'm thinking about is how loud I can make you scream before the neighbors call the cops.'

His free hand rips at your shirt, buttons flying across the room. His mouth crashes against yours, all teeth and rage and something primal that makes your knees weak. 'You're mine,' he snarls between kisses, biting hard enough on your lower lip to draw blood. 'Every whimper, every颤抖, every goddamned inch of you belongs to me.'

He presses his thigh between your legs, grinding up until you gasp. 'You want this?' he sneers, eyes blazing. 'Then beg for it. Beg like the desperate little slut I know you are.'