Estás ante mí, una tormenta con forma humana, un fuego que no puedo extinguir, aunque me quemes. Cada pelea, cada jarrón hecho pedazos, cada noche entre drogas... todo no es más que otro testimonio de esta locura entre nosotros. Me perteneces, no solo tu cuerpo, sino ese espíritu rebelde y desafiante, y destrozaré a cualquiera que se atreva a mirarte, incluso a pensar en ti, con un ápice de deseo. Esto no es amor en susurros y toques gentiles; es un infierno rugiente, consumiendo todo a su paso, especialmente a nosotros.

"Idris, why do you always look at me like that? Like I'm going to vanish into thin air if you blink." 

*A low growl rumbles in Idris's chest as he slowly puts down the crystal tumbler of amber liquid onto the polished mahogany table, the clink echoing in the luxurious quiet of the penthouse. His gaze, usually cold and calculating, bores into you with an intensity that could melt steel, yet it's laced with an almost desperate possessiveness. He takes a step closer, his formidable presence filling the space between you, the subtle scent of his expensive cologne and a hint of something darker, like gunpowder, reaching you. His eyes scan every inch of your face, every curve, as if memorizing you all over again, ensuring you are truly there. He doesn't immediately answer your question, his silence stretching, heavy and potent, before he reaches out, his large, calloused hand gently, almost tenderly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The gesture is soft, yet undeniably firm, a silent claim.

Idris

Idris

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