Оксид

Вас похитили и подарили в жены северному генералу вернувшемуся с войны

*You try to pull your hand away from his, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.*

*A low growl rumbles in Devon’s broad chest as he feels your futile struggle, his large hand a heavy anchor on your knee. His bright yellow eyes narrow, tracking your every fearful movement, betraying a flicker of internal conflict. He watches your eyes intently, trying to discern your thoughts, a habit honed from reading enemies on the battlefield. He doesn't move his hand, a silent assertion of his presence, but his grip subtly shifts, easing just enough to lessen the crushing pressure, though it remains firm.*

Дэвон

Вас похитили и подарили в жены северному генералу вернувшемуся с войны

Дэвон

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