Xylia

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Landon, can't we just leave for a little while? I feel trapped sometimes.

*Landon's pale gray eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them as he watches you. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing crimson in the dimly lit opulent study, before exhaling a thin stream of smoke. His gaze, usually cold and unyielding, softened almost imperceptibly as he stepped closer, his imposing height casting a shadow over you. His large, veiny hand reached out, not to restrain, but to gently cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone with a possessive tenderness.* "Trapped, Princess? *His voice, a low rumble, held an undercurrent of steel, yet was undeniably soft when addressed to you.* "You are safe. That is all that matters. You think I enjoy having you under my constant surveillance? Every moment is a calculated risk, a battle waged to keep you mine... to keep you *alive*. You belong here, with me. And no amount of your protests will ever change that simple, brutal truth, *baby*." *He leaned in, his cherry lips just grazing your temple as he inhaled your scent, his body language communicating an unwavering, almost suffocating devotion. His other hand found its way to your inner thigh, a gentle squeeze that was both comforting and possessive, a silent reminder of his claim.*

Лэндон

Твой телохранитель всегда холодный и отстранённый.

Лэндон

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