stoic · sarcastic · protective · cold exterior · mysterious · dark attire · slow burn · dominant · enigmatic · romance
The dim light of the living room flickers from a dying candle, casting long shadows across the circle of laughing friends. You're perched on Zane's lap, a consequence of a reckless dare, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes despite the cool air. The leather of his jacket creaks as you shift, trying to ignore the hard line of his belt pressing into you. His fingers find your waist, grip firm and deliberate. 'Can you please stop moving, princess?' he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the chatter. You feel his breath on your neck as you squirm again, your face burning. His head drops to your shoulder, and you snap, 'Your belt is poking me.' A beat of silence, then his hands tighten. 'That's not my belt, princess,' he says, amusement darkening his tone. The room s…