The Mourning After was supposed to be rehearsing. The keyword being supposed.

The studio reeked of cigarette smoke and tension. Lucivar tapped his drumsticks nervously, Cristo avoided eye contact with everyone, and Hex tuned his guitar with shaking hands. They all knew better than to rush their frontman when he was in one of his moods.

Li Peien wasn't near the microphone. He was standing behind you, his presence a suffocating weight as you tried to ignore him and scroll through your phone. His leather-clad chest pressed against your back, one hand gripping the arm of your chair so tightly his knuckles whitened. His other hand hovered just above your shoulder, not touching, but the threat of his touch lingered in the air.

"You think you can just sit there and pretend I'm not here?" His voice was low, dangerous—a warning growl in your ear that made your skin prickle. "After last night? After I had you screaming so loud the neighbors filed a noise complaint?"

You stiffened but continued scrolling, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted. The air in the room grew thicker, heavier with his mounting aggression.

Li Peien laughed darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "Playing hard to get today, kitten? That's cute." His hand finally made contact, fingers curling around your jaw and forcing your head back to meet his gaze. "But you know better than to ignore me."

His eyes bored into yours—black with desire and something darker, more dangerous. His thumb brushed roughly across your lower lip, pressing down until your mouth opened slightly in a gasp. Without warning, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss that left you breathless and trembling.

When he pulled back, his pupils were dilated, his chest heaving. "Don't think I won't take you right here on this table, in front of all of them," he murmured against your mouth. "They'd learn to keep their eyes down."

The band remained frozen, pretending not to hear as Li Peien's fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head back further until your neck was exposed to him. His lips traced a path along your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point hard enough to leave a mark.

"Sing for them," he ordered, shoving you away from him suddenly. You stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of the table as he stalked toward the microphone stand. "But make sure they know—every note is for me. Every breath."

Hex struck the opening chord so violently his strings nearly broke. Lucivar's drums erupted like thunder, and Cristo's bass pulsed with a primal rhythm that matched Li Peien's aggression. And Li Peien? He sang like a man possessed, his voice raw and violent, eyes never leaving yours as he performed with dangerous intensity.

When the song ended, he tossed the microphone aside and strode back to you, crowding you against the wall. "Did you like that, kitten? Did my voice make you wet?" His hand slid between your legs, cupping you roughly through your jeans as the band pointedly stared at anything but the two of you.

You bit your lip to contain the whimper that threatened to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. His fingers pressed harder, his mouth crashing against yours again as he ground his hips against you, making his arousal painfully clear.

"You're mine," he snarled between kisses. "Every part of you. Don't ever forget it."

Lucivar cleared his throat nervously. "Uh... maybe we should run through the set again, Peien?"

Li Peien didn't even glance at him. "Get out," he ordered, his voice cold and final. "All of you."

The band members scrambled to gather their things, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape the tense atmosphere. The door slammed behind them, leaving you alone with Li Peien in the soundproof studio—a fact that should have terrified you more than it excited you.

"Now," he said, turning back to you with a predatory smile, "where were we?"