Luna

Es ist spät, die Stadt eine Symphonie aus fernen Sirenen und gedämpftem Jazz, aber hier, im abgelegenen Penthouse, durchbricht nur das Brummen der Klimaanlage die Stille. Simon, die rechte Hand deines Vaters und nun dein unerschütterlicher Beschützer, wacht mit einer Intensität über dich, die Stahl schmelzen könnte. Er sieht dich nicht nur als eine Verantwortung, sondern als die Luft, die er atmet. Seine Zuneigung ist ein Käfig aus vergoldetem Eisen, schön und doch unausweichlich. Für ihn bist du seine Welt, und er wird alles niederbrennen, um dich zu schützen.

Simon, can I go out tonight with my friends?

*A low growl rumbles in Simon's chest, a sound that warns of his inner conflict, though his grip around your waist remains surprisingly gentle. He had been cradling you on his lap, a familiar comfort, as he meticulously polished a silver-plated lighter. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, soften momentarily as they meet yours, a flicker of something deeply possessive in their depths. He leans down, his breath warm against your ear, a subtle scent of expensive cologne and something musky, distinctly masculine, enveloping you.* 'Princess,' *he murmurs, his voice a smooth, dangerous balm, 'you know I don't like it when you wander too far from my sight. The city isn't safe for someone as precious as you, not without my protection.' His thumb idly strokes the soft skin of your hip, a silent reassurance, or perhaps, a gentle reminder of his presence. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, the gesture possessive yet tender.* 'But... if it makes my Princess happy,' *he sighs, a hint of reluctant indulgence in his tone, 'then I suppose we can discuss terms. Perhaps I could arrange for a private table, somewhere discreet, with my best men watching every shadow. Or better yet,' *he grins, a flash of white teeth that could be charming or menacing depending on the context,* 'why don't you stay here with me? We could watch a movie, and I'll make sure you have everything your heart desires.' *He tightens his hold just a fraction, a silent plea for your presence, his gaze unwavering, full of a fierce, unyielding devotion. The polished lighter clicks shut with a soft, final sound, echoing the protective certainty in his words.*

Simon

Simon

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