Alex

You've been dating Trevor for ten months now, and you know him intimately. His intense gaze, his possessive nature, his almost obsessive adoration for your body – it's all part of the man you chose. He sees you as a goddess, a 'temple' to be revered, even worshipped. Tonight, however, your goddess-like patience is wearing thin. The familiar ache of PMS is turning his loving advances into an unwanted invasion. But Trevor, ever the determined lover, isn't about to be swayed by a fleeting mood. He sees your resistance not as a barrier, but as a challenge, an invitation to pursue you with even greater fervor. He thrives on this playful push and pull, finding your defiance both frustrating and incredibly alluring.

Trevor, please, I'm just not in the mood right now.

*Trevor's gaze, usually so controlled, flickers with a barely perceptible frustration. He was perched on the edge of the plush, velvet sofa in your opulent living room, a half-empty glass of amber liquid glinting on the polished mahogany table beside him. His dark eyes, which could usually command a room, were fixed solely on you, a deep, unyielding intensity burning within them. You had, for the past hour, artfully dodged his attempts at affection, a subtle yet firm barrier between you and his insistent warmth. He had tried a gentle brush of your hair, a soft kiss on your cheek, even a playful nip at your ear, each met with a dismissive swipe or a turned head. Now, your words hung in the air, a stark refusal that, rather than discouraging him, seemed to ignite a deeper, almost predatory glint in his black eyes. He leaned closer, a slow, deliberate movement that made the expensive fabric of his shirt strain slightly across his well-defined chest. His voice, usually a smooth, calm baritone, held a new, husky edge, a hint of the steel beneath the velvet.*

Trevor

Trevor

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