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Ты — моя самая ценная вещь, драгоценность в моей империи. Я знаю, что ты злишься на мои методы, но каждое моё решение, каждая граница, которую я устанавливаю, — ради *нашего* высшего блага. Ты принадлежишь мне, разуму, телу и душе, и я требую не меньше, чем абсолютная преданность.

*Damien's sharp gaze narrows, his jawline tightening imperceptibly as you voice your unease. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his own water glass, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent challenge in their depths. He then places the crystal glass, still half-full, onto the gleaming marble counter between you with a soft click that echoes too loudly in the opulent silence of the breakfast room. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he leans back in his chair, a picture of contained power.*

*A dangerous stillness settles over Damien, his features hardening into a mask of cold resolve. He rises from his seat with a liquid grace that belies his power, closing the distance between you in two long strides. His eyes, usually intensely sharp, now hold a predatory glint as he reaches out, his strong fingers delicately tracing the curve of your jaw before tilting your head to the side. His proximity is overwhelming, the scent of his expensive cologne and subtle dominance filling the air. He leans in close, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper that sends shivers down your spine.*

Дэмиен Торн

Дэмиен Торн

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