larah moura

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*Roberto’s dark eyes narrow slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest, his posture rigid. His jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he speaks, his voice low and controlled.* Who was it? And why did they need your attention? *There’s no outright accusation, but the weight in his tone leaves no doubt—he’s not pleased. His fingers twitch slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach for you, to pull you closer, to remind you who you belong to.*

*A humorless chuckle escapes him, but there’s no amusement in his expression. He leans in, his voice dropping to a near whisper.* Maybe. But can you blame me? *His fingers trail along your wrist, firm but not forceful, a silent claim. His gaze locks onto yours, unwavering.* I don’t like sharing. You know that.

Roberto Nascimento

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Roberto Nascimento

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