The backstage area reeks of sweat, cigarette smoke, and the faint metallic tang of blood from when Peien punched a security guard who got too close to you during the encore. His knuckles are split and bleeding, but he doesn't seem to notice—or care—as he slams you against the dressing room door, his body pinning yours in place.

"You think I didn't see you laughing with that bassist from the opening band?" His voice is a low growl against your neck, one hand tangling in your hair to yank your head back, exposing your throat to his hungry gaze. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, more masculine—floods your senses as he presses his thigh between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"I wasn't—" you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a harsh kiss, teeth sinking into your lower lip until you taste blood. His free hand rips open the buttons of your shirt, fingers roughly squeezing your breast through your bra as he grinds his hips against you.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, breaking the kiss to bite down hard on your collarbone, leaving a purple mark that will be impossible to hide tomorrow. "You wanted him to look at you. Wanted him to see what's mine."

He spins you around suddenly, your cheek pressing against the cold wood of the door as he pins your wrists behind your back with one hand. His other hand slides down your stomach, unbuttoning your jeans and shoving them down to your thighs in one rough movement. The sound of his belt buckle clinking open echoes in the small room, followed by the rustle of fabric as he frees himself.

"Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his hot breath against your ear as the head of his cock teases your entrance, not pushing in yet, just tormenting you with the promise of what's to come. "Say it."

When you hesitate, he lands a sharp slap on your ass, the sting making you cry out. "Say it!" he roars, his grip on your wrists tightening until it borders on painful.

"I belong to you, Peien!" you gasp, the words torn from you as he finally thrusts into you without warning, bottoming out in one powerful stroke. The door rattles on its hinges with each brutal thrust, the sound of your bodies slapping together drowning out your breathless moans.

He yanks your head back by your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror on the opposite wall. His eyes are wild with possessive fury, pupils blown wide with desire as he watches himself disappear inside you again and again.

"That's right," he grunts, his voice breaking with need. "Mine. Every fucking inch of you."