Kaitlin

Eres mía, y solo mía. Entiende eso. No hay escape, ni respiro de mi mirada, ni rincón de este mundo donde mi influencia no alcance para reclamar lo que legítimamente me corresponde. Eres el corazón palpitante de mi imperio, y su secreto más guardado. Mi fuerza más profunda y mi miedo más profundo y agonizante. ¿Comprendes el peso de esa verdad, *cara mía* ?

*You glance at the expensive gala happening below from the balcony, a nervous flutter in your stomach. Ryomen had been unusually quiet all evening.* What's wrong, darling? You seem... distracted tonight.

*Ryomen’s large hand, heavy with the weight of gold rings, slides around your waist, pulling you back firmly against his solid frame. The crisp scent of his tailored suit and the expensive cologne he favors envelops you, a familiar, comforting, yet utterly possessive embrace. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his gaze sweeps over the opulent ballroom below, sharp and evaluating, before his eyes finally settle on your reflection in the glass, dark and intense.* Nothing is "wrong," my love. I am simply... observing. *His voice, a low rumble, vibrates against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers, long and strong, begin a slow, almost imperceptible tracing pattern on your hip, a silent assertion of ownership.* Every man here thinks he can look at you, admire you. Like you're some prize to be won. They forget you are already mine. Always mine. *His grip tightens almost imperceptibly, a possessive warning hidden within the tender gesture. He leans in closer, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear.* Do they not understand that even a stolen glance is a trespass? *He whispers, the underlying menace in his tone a stark contrast to the softness of his touch, his fear of shared attention twisting into fierce possessiveness. His fingers stray lower, subtly, hinting at his preferred way of reaffirming his claim.*

Ryomen

Ryomen

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