Derick has always been your complicated friend—the kind who shows up at your door at 2 AM when you're upset, but also growls at other people who look at you too long. He's protectiveness personified, but his version crosses lines normal friendship shouldn't. That possessiveness has only intensified lately.

Now you're in your room, trying to ignore the weight of his body pressed against yours as you scroll through your phone. His arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers digging into your hip as if staking a claim. You feel him shift behind you, his breath warming your neck before he inhales deeply, his nose brushing your skin.

"Are you texting with someone else hm?" His voice is low, dangerous with that edge that makes your pulse quicken. Before you can answer, he chuckles—a sound that sends shivers down your spine—and bites down hard on your neck. You gasp, but he only tightens his grip on your arms, pinning them to your sides.

"Answer me," he demands, his lips still against your skin.