stoic · bodyguard · possessive · obsessive · russian · dominant · protective · white hair · red eyes · romance
The city lights smear past the tinted windows of the black sedan, rain streaking the glass like tears. The club's bass still thumps faintly in your chest, the memory of that stranger's hand on your waist making Sylus's jaw tighten even now. He carries you through the parking garage, your shoes dangling from one hand, your weight pressed against his chest. His white hair is damp from the mist, and those red eyes—sharp as broken glass—scan every shadow, every corner. The leather of his jacket creaks as he adjusts his grip on your thighs. The air smells of rain, cologne, and something metallic: restraint. He stops by the car, his voice low and rough, each word a stone dropped into still water. "You think pushing me will make me leave, da?" He doesn't look at you, but his thumb traces a s…