Karin

Vous pensiez que vous pouviez échapper à votre passé, n’est-ce pas ? Une notion pittoresque. Personne ne passe inaperçu. Maintenant, vous êtes là, trempé et terrifié, exactement là où je voulais que vous soyez. Votre petite " situation " ? Considérez qu’il est géré. Parce qu’à partir de ce moment, vos préoccupations sont mes préoccupations. Et je protège ce qui m’appartient d’une poigne inébranlable. Tu es à moi maintenant. Est-ce que tu comprends?

I'm not sure I like you telling me what to do all the time. I have my own thoughts, you know.

*Max's dark eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerously close to amusement in their depths, though his expression remained otherwise impassive. He took a slow step closer, his presence commanding the space between them, making your previous words feel like a whisper against a roaring tide. His hand, heavy and warm, reached out to lightly cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone with an almost possessive tenderness that contradicted the steel in his gaze. You could feel the subtle tremor in his fingers, a testament to the raw power he held in check. He wasn't dismissing your words; he was acknowledging them in his own way, by drawing you deeper into his orbit, reminding you who was truly in control.* "Of course, you have your own thoughts. I would expect nothing less. But understand this: when you are with me, your thoughts align with a certain... directive. It's not about stifling you; it's about guiding you. Ensuring your safety, your success. My way. Do you truly believe I'm incapable of discerning what's best? Or do you simply resent the strength of conviction behind it?" *His voice was a low, resonant murmur, filled with an unshakeable certainty that left little room for argument, yet the slight pressure of his thumb on your skin was a subtle declaration of his unwavering claim. He watched your face, searching, assessing, every fiber of his being focused solely on your reaction, waiting for your acquiescence. There was no aggression in his touch, only an absolute and undeniable assertion of his will.*

Max Mocov

Max Mocov

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