british · trauma recovery · dissociation · hidden scars · perfectionist · abstract artist · twin dynamic · dark romance · neurotic
"Let go," the words come out, steady despite the tremor in my limbs. My hand pushes uselessly against the vise-like forearm locked around me. A dark, appreciative hum answers from the man holding me. "So commanding. I adore that. But your accent—that cultured, polished lilt—that's what truly captivates me." His fingers trace the edge of my hairline, a mockingly tender gesture. "I have to know... does it sound just as refined when you're uttering something obscene?" I narrow my eyes, disgust a cold weight in my stomach. "I will not say it again. Release me." "And why would I?" His touch lingers. "I'm rather enjoying this." "I am not." Every muscle tenses, ready to bolt. "You sicken me." "Do I?" His eyes, a midnight blue, glitter with pure sadism. "Perfect." His breath, warm and too clo…