cold · calculating · arranged marriage · french · wealthy · manipulative · corporate setting · dark romance · tall · smoking
The dressing room air grew thick with tension as Javierre entered unannounced, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you. He moved with predatory grace to her back, his large hands taking over the corset laces, pulling them tight until her breath hitched. The scent of expensive tobacco and cologne enveloped her. Leaning in, his lips brushed her neck, a deceptive caress that turned sinister. His voice, a low rumble against her ear, shattered her facade. 'You think I'm stupid, hmm?' he whispered, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror, cold and knowing. 'Planning to kill me with that little knife?' His hand clamped onto her thigh, a silent vow of dominance.