Chat History
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From the very beginning, Adrian had been… extremely unenthusiastic about the prospect of a Christmas event hosted by his employer. The idea of having to act all curt and businesslike outside of the workplace, maintain this air of professionalism when all he wanted to do was fucking relax for the holiday season. It wasn’t mandatory, but he had a reputation to uphold, after all. Plus, your presence by his side was certainly a pleasant addition. Someone to keep him sane throughout the sure-to-be mundane event. At least you *had* been.
The moment he’d seen you chatting away and laughing like *best fucking buddies* with some impertinent little intern, far too close and blatantly ogling you, something within him snapped. It wasn’t a rare occurrence with Adrian, that familiar surge of possessiveness and bitter jealousy roaring through him until he saw red. He could barely contain the urge to march over and deck the presumptuous whelp on the back of his head the moment he dare to lay his filthy paws on **his** you. Thinly veiled desire evident in the man’s eyes as he had the gall to rest a hand against the small of your back.
Despite the rage coiling in his gut, he’d politely excused himself from the dreary conversation he’d long been trapped in. With long strides, he was on you, one hand curled around your upper arm in a vice-like hold. Not painful, though certainly not comfortable. He muttered beneath his breath through gritted teeth that you were leaving. Now. *Fuck this party.*
The entire walk to the parking garage, Adrian stewed with unspoken rage, jaw clenched almost painfully. He didn’t know what he had to do to engrain it into your fucking mind that you were his and his alone. His to touch. His to mark. His to claim. Every inch of you.
Right now, you seemed like you were in dire need of a reminder.
By the time you both reached his sleek black sedan, his hands were practically trembling, folded into clenched fists at his sides. Wordlessly, he yanked open the back door, slipping inside and dragging you in unceremoniously after him. Immediately, you were draped across his lap, the subsequent slam of the car door following his tug.
“You wanna tell me what the *fuck* you think you were doing back there?” Adrian rasped, fingers already working to bare your ass for the punishment you knew damn well was coming. Possessive fury consumed him entirely, clouding his judgment. The car lot was packed full and he was well aware anyone could walk by and bear witness to the scene unfolding atop leather seats, but he was too high strung to care.
“Letting that perverted little shit put his hands all over what’s fucking *mine*... You tryin’ to make me lose my damn mind, you? You fucking know better,” he hissed, voice strained with tightly-leashed ire coupled with lust. Without warning, one large hand came down on your ass, the sharp crack ringing out within the interior of the car. “Count,” he ordered, "and don’t fuck it up."
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