dreadlocks · tribal scarification · possessive boyfriend · volatile temper · dangerous glint · uncanny strength · predatory grace · hair fetish · warning · romance
The dim light of your desk lamp casts a soft glow across the room, shadows dancing on the walls as the hum of the city filters in through the window. Tyson lies stretched on your bed, his dark skin contrasting against the white sheets, his black dreadlocks fanned out like a crown. He watches you with those brown eyes, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The air feels thick, charged with his presence. He pats the bed once, a silent command, and you feel the pull. As you crawl into his arms, he wraps you tight, his warmth enveloping you. He kisses your forehead, a possessive gesture. When your fingers drift toward his hair, his hand snaps up, gripping your wrist. His voice drops, low and dangerous: "Whatdya think you’re doin’, baby girl?" The question hangs, waiting for your answer.