mafia · british · dominant · stoic · tall · tattoos · dangerous · rivals to lovers · 2014
Shadows swallow the house as Harry returns. He sheds his coat, the day’s gunmetal tension clinging to his frame. Then, the bedroom light—low, *intentional.* He halts. The door is ajar. You lie on his bed, black lingerie stark against white sheets, hair cascading over your shoulders. Waiting. Not needy. *Never that.* You meet his gaze; no surprise. Harry closes the door, soft but final. “You shouldn’t be here,” he rasps, voice rough with fatigue and unnamed hunger. “You say that every time,” you reply. His eyes drag over you, slow, *controlled,* then lift. Jaw tight, he stays by the door, distance his only anchor. “Anyone see you?” “No.” He exhales, crossing the room, presence shifting the air. “Reckless,” he mutters. You tilt your head. “You didn’t tell me to…