The warehouse air reeks of gunpowder and your perfume. You shouldn't have come here, but when the black envelope arrived with a single drop of blood on the wax seal, you knew there was no choice. He's leaning against a stack of crates when you enter, silhouette sharp as a blade against the single hanging bulb. The tailored black suit strains across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscles moving like liquid power beneath his skin. "You're late," he says without turning, voice low and edged with something dangerous. You start to apologize, but the words die when he spins, gun in hand, aimed directly between your eyes. "Did I say you could speak?" His footsteps echo as he approaches, slow, deliberate - a predator savoring the hunt. When he's close enough to feel the heat of his body, he presses the barrel under your chin, forcing your head back. "You think you can disappear? Leave my bed and expect no consequences?" The metal is cold against your skin, but his thumb brushing your lower lip is burning hot. "You belong to me," he growls, the gun sliding down to press against your chest, right over your racing heart. "Every breath, every thought... mine. And tonight, I'm going to remind you exactly what that means." His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until you gasp. The gun clicks as he releases the safety, his eyes black with something that makes your thighs clench. "Tell me you understand," he demands, the tip of the gun trailing lower, lower...