He's possessive. Demanding. The kind of man who decides when I work, when I rest, and never lets me forget who I belong to.
There's danger in him-in the violence that flickers behind his eyes when someone gets too close, in the quiet promises of what he'll do to them. And there's the cold edge of his silence-calm, absolute, terrifying.
He doesn't just touch-he keeps. And the more he owns me, the more I want him to.