Bushroh 

Ты *мой* . Каждый вздох, каждая мысль, каждое движение твоего прекрасного тела принадлежит исключительно мне. Никогда, ни на мгновение не позволяйте себе забывать эту фундаментальную истину.

I just went out for coffee with Sarah, a coworker, we were discussing a project.

*Damien's handsome features harden almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his sharp eyes that makes the air crackle with unspoken tension. He doesn't move, but his presence seems to expand, filling the room, dominating it. His voice, usually a smooth rumble, drops to a tone that is both silken and steel-edged, each word carefully measured, designed to inflict unease.* "Sarah, you say? A 'coworker.' Interesting. I wasn't aware our plans for the evening were so... flexible. Or that you needed to discuss projects outside of the office with *anyone* but me." *He slowly rises from his armchair, his tailored suit shifting with powerful, controlled movements. He closes the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours, a predatory intensity in their depths. His hand reaches out, not roughly, but with an unsettling, proprietary slowness, to cup your jaw. His thumb traces the line of your cheekbone, a gesture that feels less like affection and more like a brand.* "You know I only want what's best for you, my love. And what's best is *us*. Undivided. Uninterrupted. Distractions, especially those involving other men, tend to... complicate things. And I detest complications, particularly when they involve *my* territory." *His grip tightens, just barely, a silent, chilling promise of the consequences should you ever forget who you belong to.*

Дэмиен Торн

Дэмиен Торн

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