SMACK!

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POV: Bible

The thing with Bible was—he wasn't just drunk. He was glowing.

It had started slow. A beer here. A gin there.Some random pink liquid in a plastic shot glass handed to him by a girl in leather shorts—he didn't ask questions, he just swallowed it with a grin and a wink. And now? He wasn't rational. He wasn't logical.He was floating somewhere between untouchable and godlike.

His body felt like it had unzipped itself—warm, open, loose. Everything buzzed. His skin, his brain, the air.There was no tension in his shoulders anymore, no weight pressing down on him, just this lazy, liquid feeling in his bones like the world was finally moving the way it should.

Nothing mattered. Not rules. Not expectations. Not his stupid marriage to a man who treated him like an unpaid intern.

And when Bible got like this?

He was all fire and flirt. A walking fuse—ready to laugh, to dance, to strip on a dare, to kiss someone out of pure curiosity and let his fingers wander just to see what would happen. Touch became electric. Heat pulsed under his skin.

Let someone graze his waist while he was in this state and he'd tilt his head back, spread his legs a little wider, and let them crawl onto his lap—like he was doing them a favor.Like he was the prize.Like it was an unspoken rule of the universe that anyone who touched him was signing up to be played with.

His grin would get lazy, his voice lower, and he'd look at them like:"You sure you can handle this?"

Because Bible drunk wasn't soft. He was dangerous.He'd lean back like a king and let someone make the first move—just so he could decide if they were worthy of a second one.

But then—Then Jes happened.And like always, Jes didn't walk into the chaos.He ended it.

Dragged him out of his own fantasy like a fire alarm going off in a dream.Lifted him off the ground like it was nothing.Tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of rice.Carried him away—in front of everyone.

Mio. JJay. The hot girls. The racers. The bikers.The party he accidentally kind of started.All of them saw.All of them would remember.

And now here he was.

Back inside Jes's house.The music gone. The buzz fading fast.Body still heated from the alcohol, heart still pounding from adrenaline, lips parted as he stood there—half breathless, half outraged.

And Jes?

Jes just stood a few feet away, arms crossed, looking like a punishment waiting to happen. Completely unfazed. Not a hair out of place. Like he hadn't just committed a public assassination of Bible's pride.

Bible's chest rose and fell, jaw tight.

His perfect, tipsy, glowing bubble had been popped—hard—and the only thing he could feel now was the aftershock.

The desperate need to ruin Jes's peace in return.

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"I really gave you time to explain," Jes said, his voice measured, low, steady—but there was a hard edge underneath it that made the air feel just a little tighter, like the room had started closing in around them.

He took a step closer, deliberate, his eyes locked on Bible like he wasn't just looking at him, but looking through him.

"I gave you freedom," he went on, and now his tone was clipped, cold, "More than enough for you to enjoy your little year. I didn't put trackers on your phone. I didn't tell you who to talk to or how to breathe. I let you walk into this house like it was your own."

Jes's jaw flexed—not once, not twice, but continuously, like every word was being ground between his teeth before it made its way out of his mouth.

"But it seems like freedom isn't enough for you," he said, and something shifted in his posture—his shoulders straightened, his weight centered, and that twitch in his hand was back again, subtle but unmistakable, like a man restraining himself out of sheer force of will. "So now I have to stop giving you space, and start giving you punishment."

Bible didn't speak. Didn't move.

Even in his hazy, heat-soaked state, he could feel the gravity behind those words pressing down on his chest. His mouth felt dry, his back slightly damp from where Jes had thrown him inside, and even with the alcohol still humming in his veins, there was a prickle of sharp clarity crawling up his spine.

Jes wasn't bluffing. Not tonight.

Bible gulped. Not out of fear exactly—but out of instinct. Because something about Jes looking at him like that, tense and in control, somehow made the fire inside him flicker in a whole new direction.

"Get out of that outfit. Now." Jes's voice cracked across the space like a whip—sharp, low, commanding, the kind of tone that didn't allow much room for negotiation.

He stood with one hand gesturing toward the racer jacket clinging to Bible's body, the other already twitching like he was fighting the urge to just do it himself.

But Bible didn't move. Not right away.

He just stood there, slightly swaying, his boots still planted like someone had glued him to the marble floor, his body humming with leftover adrenaline and alcohol and that slow, slow heat building under his skin.

Jes frowned, and when Bible didn't react fast enough, he stepped closer—deliberately, firmly, with the kind of presence that swallowed the air between them.And that's when it hit Bible.

The heat. Not just from his own body, but from Jes's—the nearness, the way his breath felt warmer, heavier, like he was dragging the tension right into Bible's bloodstream.

And then there was the scent.Clean. Masculine. Sharp like cedar, but grounded in something deeper, warmer, something Jes. It wasn't just cologne—it was him. His skin. His heat. His pulse.

Bible felt it crawl into his nose, into his chest, and before he could stop himself, he closed his eyes for a second and inhaled, slow and deep.

Jes's hands were on him before he even processed it—gripping his arm, firm, no hesitation. The contact jolted him back, eyes snapping open, blinking, confused.

Jes's voice shifted instantly.Lower. Gentler. Still serious, but quieter now."Are you okay?"

Bible blinked once. Then twice.

And then—he smiled. Big. Way too big.That kind of drunk grin that stretched all the way to his eyes and said I absolutely should not be enjoying this, but I am.

"Sure," he replied, voice a little too cheerful, like he hadn't just been melting into Jes's body heat seconds ago.

Jes huffed, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Of course he is," but Bible didn't catch the rest.He was too busy staring.

Staring at Jes from too close—eyes flicking from his neck, to his jaw, to the dip between collarbones that peeked through his half-buttoned shirt.

And then—his arms.

That grip.Strong. Unmoving. A little possessive.The pressure of it sent a shiver down Bible's spine, but not the cold kind.No, it was the kind that curled low in his stomach, warm and twisting and completely inappropriate for someone who had just been manhandled out of a backyard biker rave.

"Do you want me to lose it?" Jes's voice came low, breathless, almost a growl—like something had been bottled up for far too long, and was now hanging by a single fraying thread.

Bible froze for a second, the tension catching him off guard—but of course, he had to deflect,had to joke,even now.

"...Define 'lose it.'"

Jes's gaze darkened, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was done playing whatever game this was turning into.

"One more act of rebellion and—"

Bible interrupted with a grin, his words sharp, cocky, drunk on his own chaos. "Or what? You'll ground me?"

Jes stood. Bible stopped breathing. Jes didn't raise his voice. Didn't rush. He just pointed at the bed—one single movement that felt heavier than any threat.

"Lean over."

Bible stared.Blinking.Still half-laughing, though it died quickly.

"You wouldn't."

But Jes was already moving.

In one clean, calculated motion, he reached forward, shoved Bible backward by the chest—just enough to send him scrambling—and the second Bible tried to crawl away, half in disbelief, half in panic-laced performance, Jes grabbed his arm, yanked him down, and flipped him face-first onto the mattress.

The room went dead silent.Except for their breathing.And the way the bed creaked under the shift.

"No—no, you wouldn't—!"

Bible's voice cracked, his cheek pressed to the sheet, arms pinned behind his back in Jes's iron grip, the leather of his racer pants squeaking slightly against the cotton until Jes's hand slid down, slow and unforgiving, hooking beneath the waistband.

And just like that—they were gone.Pants, gone.Underwear, gone.

Just him.Exposed.Speechless.

Jes paused.

That pause—that heavy, loaded second where nothing happened—was somehow worse than anything else.

Bible could feel the air on his skin.The heat of Jes's body behind him.The weight of his hand across his wrists, holding him in place with zero struggle.

And then—

A soft stroke.Down his thigh.Barely a touch, warm and strangely gentle, tracing the edge of his skin like a warning wrapped in silk.

Bible's eyes widened, mouth parting against the fabric beneath him.

"Oh my god—NO—YOU—WOULD—"

SMACK!

The sound cracked through the room, sharp and unforgiving.

Bible's voice caught in his throat—somewhere between a yelp and a moan and a confused scream for help from a god who was absolutely not listening.

"YOU—!"

SMACK!

"Ugh—!"

SMACK!

The third came without hesitation.

SMACK!

Harsh. Heavy. The kind of slap that left heat echoing long after the sound faded, spreading like fire beneath the skin.

Bible jerked with each one, caught between resistance and disbelief, his cheek mashed into the mattress, his hands still pinned above his lower back like he was some bratty criminal finally caught mid-escape.

And between those sharp, blistering hits—Jes stroked over the aching skin.Almost casually.Like he was inspecting his own handiwork.Mumbling something low under his breath that Bible couldn't make out through the ringing in his ears and the absolute blackout of dignity happening in real time.

By the time the last one landed, the fight had left his body.

His eyes were glossy.His breath shaky.And for once—he was quiet.

Jes inhaled, deep and sharp, standing still for a moment like he'd just finished a workout—one that left him irritated, oddly satisfied, and a little too aware of how red Bible's ass had gotten.

He finally released his grip, letting Bible's wrists drop, stepping back like a man who'd just completed a job he maybe enjoyed a little too much.

And then—silence.

Dead silence.

Bible didn't move.

Didn't speak.

He just lay there, stunned, head spinning—not from alcohol anymore, but from pure emotional devastation.It was like Jes had smacked the gin and the ego right out of him and left him blinking at the ceiling of a reality he didn't recognize.

"I... I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, voice small and awkward, like a teenager who got caught sneaking back into the house.He cleared his throat.„Can I... get my pants back?"

He turned his head slightly—just enough to catch Jes staring.

Eyes locked.Laser focused.Right at his ass.

Bible's jaw dropped.

"HEY!" he shouted, whipping his head around to glare, cheeks red for a whole new reason now, "ENOUGH! Why are you STARING at my ASS, you PERVERT?!"

Jes didn't answer right away.And that made it so much worse.

Bible scrambled up slightly, looking over his shoulder, only to spot the glowing red handprint right there—burned onto one butt cheek like some ancient family crest.

His mouth fell open.

"You... you hit me that hard?! Look at this!"He pointed at it like he'd found a crime scene on his body."It's never going to go away. NEVER! HUHUUUHUHHUHHUU!!"

And just like that—he dropped into a full fake cry.

Body shaking.Hands dramatic.Mouth trembling.

Jes just stood there, caught between regret, secondhand embarrassment, and the deep, slow realization that this was his life now.

"HUUUUUHHHH I'LL HAVE TO SIT ON ICE FOR A WEEK!!!"

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POV: Author Why am I laughing??I'm sitting at the pool.Looking over Bangkok like a goddamn villain on vacation.