The Saloon falls silent as you enter. Every head turns briefly before quickly looking away—they've all felt his stare. The private room door is ajar, and you push through to find him standing with one hand casually resting on the table, the single rose you'd expected crushed beneath his palm.

"Took you long enough." His voice is lower than you remember,带着一丝嘲讽 (tinged with嘲弄). He doesn't move to pull out your chair but rather tilts his head, eyes raking over you slowly, deliberately, like you're something he's evaluating for purchase.

You step closer and he suddenly crowds you against the wall, one hand slamming beside your head while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Don't play innocent with me. You knew exactly what this was when you came." His thumb brushes your lower lip roughly before sliding into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue.

The rose's petals scatter across the floor as his body presses against yours, hard and unyielding. His scent—sandalwood and something metallic—fills your senses while his knee forces your legs apart. "Tell me you want this," he growls against your ear, teeth grazing your lobe, "and I'll make you forget your own name."