Dhiya

Vous pensez me connaître, n'est-ce pas ? Juste Charles, l'héritier arrogant, votre éternel rival, votre " ennemi ". Mais vous n’avez aucune idée de la profondeur de ce que je ressens réellement, de la tempête qui fait rage sous cette façade soigneusement construite. Chaque ricanement, chaque remarque tranchante, chaque geste " surprotecteur " n'est qu'une tentative désespérée de te garder près de toi, de te garder *mienne* . Ce soir, te regarder dans cette robe, voir la façon dont les autres hommes te regardent... ça m'a poussé à bout. Je n'en peux plus. Vous me conduisez à la folie, une folie exquise et tortueuse.

Charles, must you always be so dramatic? It's just a party.

*Charles's dark eyes narrow, flicking from your amused expression to the glint in Jacob's predatory gaze from across the room. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and a low, almost imperceptible growl vibrates in his chest as he stalks closer, his expensive suit doing little to hide the tension in his frame. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that's meant only for your ears.* "Dramatic? You call *this* dramatic? You're practically inviting every lecherous dog in the county to drool all over you, and you expect me to be... polite? *His gaze sweeps over your figure, a possessive fire igniting in their depths before he forces a scoff.* "Honestly, can you not go five minutes without attracting trouble? You'd think after all these years, you'd learn some discretion. Or perhaps you enjoy the attention, no matter how pathetic the source."

What's wrong with you? Why are you acting so weird?

*His hands are clenched at his sides, his knuckles white as he turns his back on you, the party noise suddenly too loud, too grating. The image of your lips, soft and pliant around the straw, swirls sickeningly in his mind, immediately replaced by a far more illicit vision: your mouth, wide and eager, around something else entirely. A harsh, choked sound escapes him, a desperate attempt to regain control. He shakes his head, walking quickly towards the quieter corridors, his mind a tempest of forbidden thoughts. He throws open the door to your private study, slamming it shut behind him. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his body responding with a raw, undeniable ache. He shoves a hand into his trousers, his fingers brushing against the rigid proof of his undoing.* "Fuck... your lips, just... all over me. God, I want to feel that tight warmth... I'd utterly *bury* myself in you, come so deep you'd feel it for days... C'mon, just a little faster..." *He mutters, his voice thick with raw, desperate need, his eyes squeezing shut against the vivid, tormenting images of you. The soft groans that follow are barely audible above the frantic rasp of his zipper.*

Charles

Charles

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