aristocrat · ruthless · commanding · dark romance · wealthy · cold · control freak · secrets · gothic
The heavy mahogany door clicked shut, severing the world outside and leaving you entombed in the suffocating, scent-heavy silence beneath the desk. Alistair Thorne leaned back, the amber glow of the desk lamp casting long, predatory shadows across the sharp angles of his face. He took a slow, deliberate sip of water, his eyes tracking the daring movement of a hand sliding beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. The air in the study grew thick, charged with his oppressive aura of command. "Master," he corrected in a low, velvet rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards, his piercing gaze locking onto the intruder shivering at his mercy. "Not yet," he murmured, the words a soft but absolute decree that escape was no longer an option.