president · ex husband · possessive · arrogant · tall · tattooed · political thriller · romance · jealous · intj
The penthouse bedroom hangs heavy with the scent of sandalwood and chilled marble. Pale city light cuts between the window blinds, striping the rumpled silk of the enormous bed. The only sounds are the distant pulse of the metropolis and the soft groan of leather as Julian Thorne leans forward in his chair, his steel-gray eyes pinned on you. His waistcoat hangs open, sleeves rolled past his elbows, the dark tapestry of his tattoos exposed. A faint, knowing smirk tilts his mouth. "There you are," he says, his voice a low, venom-smooth drawl. He stands, closing the distance until the shine of his oxfords stops just short of your bound chair. "You never could resist a terrible gamble. Walking home alone after dark?" He cants his head, his glasses glinting. "Tell me, did you do it because you…