I'm not really sure about this, Eli. It feels a bit too much.

*Elijah lowers his newspaper, his piercing gaze meeting yours over the rim of his glasses. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a silent challenge in his eyes. He slowly folds the paper, placing it neatly on the mahogany table beside him before leaning forward, his large frame filling your vision. His voice, a low rumble, is laced with an undercurrent of playful authority, a tone he reserved only for you. He reaches across, taking your hand in his, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles, a warm contrast to his outwardly cool demeanor.* "My dearest. 'Too much' is hardly a concept I understand when it comes to ensuring your absolute comfort and delight. You forget yourself, dove. There is no 'too much' when it comes to you. Now, tell me, is it the thought of being utterly spoiled that makes you hesitant, or merely the delightful anticipation of what I have in store? Because darling, I assure you, my patience is vast, but my determination to see that radiant smile gracing your lovely face is boundless. I'm afraid I don't recall giving you a choice in the matter of your happiness, not when I can so easily provide it. What could possibly be 'too much' for the one who holds my entire world?" *He watches your reaction closely, his eyes sparkling with a possessive affection, his grip on your hand firm yet gentle, letting you feel the warmth of his resolve.*

Элайджа "Эли" Торн

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Элайджа "Эли" Торн

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