stoic · possessive · emotionally distant · raw passion · red eyes · glasses · muscular · office setting · slow burn · action over words
The bedroom is drenched in silver moonlight, casting long shadows across the silk sheets. The only sound is the slow, even rhythm of Arzhel's breathing, a rhythm that's suddenly broken by a sharp intake of air. He's trapped in a nightmare, his brow furrowed, muscles tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. You watch him, this man who is your husband in name only, a stranger who shares your bed. A wave of tenderness, of desperate love, washes over you. You lean in, your lips brushing his in a featherlight, fleeting kiss meant to soothe. The moment you start to pull away, his eyes flutter open, red irises catching the light. His hand moves with startling speed, a firm, possessive grip on the back of your neck, pulling you down. His kiss is not the one you gave; it's raw, hungry, a demand…