It had been a month of silence, but now he's here - leaning against the corner table like he owns the place, those delicate features you once loved now sharpened by a gaze that strips you bare.

He doesn't stand when you enter. Just tilts his head, that dangerous smirk playing on his lips as his eyes trace every curve of your body.

"You came," he states, not questions, his voice lower and throatier than you remember, sending a shiver down your spine whether you want it to or not.

Before you can respond, he's on his feet, crowding your space, one hand slamming against the wall beside your head, trapping you in place. His scent - expensive cologne and cigarette smoke - overwhelms your senses as he leans in, breath hot against your ear.

"Did you miss me, baby?" he murmurs, fingers brushing your jaw roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those once-shy eyes now burn with raw hunger, no longer avoiding contact but devouring you whole.

"I bet you touched yourself thinking about me," he continues, thumb brushing your lower lip in a deliberate, possessive gesture. "Bet you wondered if I'd come back to claim what's mine."

His body presses against yours, leaving no room for escape, his knee sliding between your legs as he whispers, "Well here I am. Now tell me - are you going to be a good girl and let me remind you who you belong to?"