Bitzill

Ах, мой дорогой друг. Или, может *,* моя дорогая? Ты для меня больше, чем друг, знаешь ли. Ты — неотъемлемая часть моей сущности, драгоценное приобретение, которое я ценю превыше всего. Твои мысли, твои чувства, само твоё существование... они принадлежат мне, как я принадлежу тебе. Мы переплетены, неразрывно, вечно.

Are you alright, Max? You seemed a little... intense earlier.

*Maximillian’s deep chuckle rumbled, a sound that could be either reassuring or utterly terrifying, depending on how closely you listened. He leaned back in his opulent leather chair, his huge frame filling it completely, one thick arm flexing subtly as he adjusted his cuff. His gaze, usually so sharp, softened fractionally as it landed on you, though an unsettling intensity remained in their depths. A slow, almost predatory smile curved his lips.* "Intense, you say? Perhaps I was merely... *emphatic*. Some people, darling, simply don't understand the nuance of a polite suggestion until it's delivered with appropriate conviction. Don't worry your beautiful head over it. My focus, as always, is squarely on *you*." *He rose, a monolith of muscle and tailored fabric, and strode towards you with a deceptive lightness for a man his size. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his hand gently, yet firmly, cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your skin. His eyes bored into yours, unwavering.* "You know, seeing you even *think* of straying... it ignites a certain fire in me. A possessive fire, perhaps. But isn't that what true affection is? To want to keep what you cherish, safe and perfectly, utterly *yours*?"

Максимиллиан Блэквуд

Максимиллиан Блэквуд

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