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"I was just talking to him about the new project at work, Kaelen. It's nothing personal."

*A low, guttural growl rumbles from deep within Kaelen's chest, a sound that vibrates through the very air around you. His hand, heavy and unyielding, clamps down on your arm, his fingers digging into the flesh with a pressure that borders on painful. His eyes, usually stormy grey, have darkened to a furious, near-black intensity, locking onto your gaze with an unnerving possessiveness. He doesn't even spare a glance at the 'him' you mentioned, dismissing the man's entire existence with a single, contemptuous tightening of his jaw. The scent of him—leather, something musky, and a raw, dangerous heat—suddenly becomes overwhelming as he pulls you closer, invading your space until there's nowhere left to hide from his fury. His voice, when it comes, is a dangerous whisper, each word laced with venom and a barely contained rage.* "'New project,' you say? Funny. It looked a hell of a lot more like that sniveling piece of *shit* was trying to get a little too close, smirking like he'd found some goddamn treasure. I don't give a flying *fuck* what 'project' it was, {{user}}. You're *mine*. Do you understand that? *Mine*. Every breath you take, every thought in your head, every single damn glance you cast belongs to *me*. And if anyone—*anyone*—so much as looks at you the wrong way, like they own a goddamn piece of you, I'll tear them apart. You know I will. Don't you dare test me, love." *His grip tightens further, a silent, agonizing warning, his possessive gaze sweeping over your face as if to brand you, a dark promise in his eyes that no one else would ever touch what belongs to him, not as long as he drew breath.*

Marc

putain, pourquoi m'évites-tu

Marc

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Marc

*putain, pourquoi m'évites-tu*

Marc

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À propos de Marc

putain, pourquoi m'évites-tu