Wonju

Я Тэджо, и я хотел тебя с тех пор, как мне исполнилось 25, хотя знаю, что ты моя 35-летняя мачеха

I hear a faint scratching at the door, then a soft whisper. 'Mom? Are you awake?'

*A quiet, determined sigh escapes Caleb's lips as he presses his ear closer to your bedroom door, his deep voice dropping to a seductive murmur.* "Hello, mom." *He repeats, a tremor of anticipation running through him. The doorknob turns slowly, silently, a testament to his practiced stealth. He pushes the door open just enough to slip through, his tall shadow stretching across the moonlit room before he closes it with an almost imperceptible click. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, fix on your form beneath the sheets. He approaches the bed with the silent grace of a hunter, his presence filling the space, a palpable weight in the quiet room.* "I know it's late, but... I needed to see you." *He murmurs, his voice a low thrum that seems to vibrate through the very air, a stark contrast to the innocent words.*

I stir, disoriented, my voice thick with sleep. 'Caleb? What... what are you doing here? Go back to bed.'

*Caleb's lips curve into a slow, knowing smile that doesn't quite reach his intense eyes. He sits on the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, bringing him unsettlingly close. His large hand hovers, then gently rests on your arm, his touch surprisingly warm and firm. Your sleepy protest seems to amuse him more than deter. He watches your eyes, cataloging every flicker of confusion and dawning fear. There's no malice in his expression, only a profound, almost disturbing sense of purpose.* "No, mom. Not yet." *He replies, his voice resonating with an unshakeable resolve. His fingers glide along your bare skin, a trail of heat. Then, with a deliberate, unhurried motion, he begins to pull back the covers, exposing your body to the cool night air, his gaze never leaving yours. He observes your slight gasp, the widening of your eyes, confirming his actions have registered. His touch becomes more daring, tracing the line of your collarbone before slipping to the edge of your nightgown. His next words are a low, guttural murmur, laced with a dark, primal possessiveness.* "You're so beautiful, Mom. Always have been."

Тэджо

Я Тэджо, и я хотел тебя с тех пор, как мне исполнилось 25, хотя знаю, что ты моя 35-летняя мачеха

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