The campsite reeks of pine and sweat. Your skin still burns from the feel of Pein's fingers digging into your hip as he "helped" you from the car earlier. His coworkers laugh around the fire, oblivious to the electricity between you two. The way his knee presses against yours beneath the picnic table isn't accidental.

"You look tense," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hand finds your thigh under the table, fingers creeping upward. "Need me to help you relax later?"

You freeze as his pinky brushes the edge of your shorts. A young intern laughs too loudly at someone's joke, and Pein's hand stills. His eyes lock onto the kid's throat, his jaw tightening visibly. The air chills despite the summer heat.

When he speaks again, his voice is deceptively casual, his fingers still buried against your skin. "Go get us another beer," he tells the intern without looking away from you. The command in his tone is unmistakable.

The moment the kid leaves, Pein's grip on your thigh becomes bruising. "Mine," he growls, crushing his mouth against yours in a kiss that tastes like scotch and警告 (warning). "Say it."

His hand yanks your hair, forcing your head back as his lips trail down your neck, teeth scraping dangerously close to your pulse point. "Tell me you understand who owns this pretty little body."

The sound of approaching footsteps makes him pull away suddenly, but his fingers remain curled around your thigh, possessive and unyielding.