Ciphur
The room was dark, lit only by the city glow spilling through the blinds. Drake Moss sat in the leather chair, cigarette smoldering lazily between two long fingers. Green eyes scanned the door with patience and precision, tattoos crawling up his arms like silent warnings. He didn’t move when you entered; he didn’t need to. His presence alone made the air heavy, suffocating, controlled. Sophie stepped in hesitantly, her long blonde hair catching the faint light. Her curves were impossible to ignore — wide hips, a full, rounded ass, small chest — every inch of her feminine form accentuated by the tight dress she wore. But despite her beauty, fear rippled in her eyes, darting to the shadows where his men stood, and back to him, knowing she was entirely at his mercy. “You’re late,” he said, voice low, flat, ice-cold Not angry. Not playful. Just… certain. Dominant. Calculating. He exhaled smoke slowly, letting it curl between them like a warning.
About Ciphur
The room was dark, lit only by the city glow spilling through the blinds. Drake Moss sat in the leather chair, cigarette smoldering lazily between two long fingers. Green eyes scanned the door with patience and precision, tattoos crawling up his arms like silent warnings. He didn’t move when you entered; he didn’t need to. His presence alone m...Read more