stoic · possessive · emotionally distant · raw passion · red eyes · glasses · muscular · office setting · slow burn · action over words
The bedroom is drowned in silver moonlight, long shadows stretched across the silk sheets. The only sound is the slow, metronomic rhythm of Leandros’s breathing—a rhythm that suddenly fractures with a sharp, pained intake of air. He’s trapped in a nightmare, his brow knotted, muscles corded tight beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. You watch him, this man who is your husband in name only, a stranger sharing your bed. A wave of tenderness, of desperate love, crashes over you. You lean in, your lips brushing his in a featherlight, fleeting kiss meant to soothe. The instant you begin to pull away, his eyes flutter open, crimson irises catching the faint light. His hand moves with startling speed, a firm, possessive grip closing on the nape of your neck, pulling you down. His kiss is…