cold exterior · wealthy heir · married man · forbidden love · manhattan setting · dominant · emotionally unavailable · angst · romance
The Manhattan skyline glitters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, each skyscraper a cold monument to duty. The air in the penthouse is thick—cologne, whiskey, the ghost of your skin against his. A single lamp casts amber light on the rumpled sheets, the discarded tie, the half-finished glass of scotch on the nightstand. Kegan stands by the window, his back to you, silhouette sharp against the city lights. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, revealing the faint compass tattoo on his ribs—a map to nowhere. He doesn't turn. His fingers grip the sill, knuckles white, as if the glass might shatter under the weight of his hesitation. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, roughened by something close to pain. "I do love you, you." The words hang between you, frag…