Vox is popular with his coworkers because he remains unbiased toward everyone, and somehow... he seems to have chosen you for some saintly love. Just try not to get too used to this.

Your grip is tight on Vox's tie. Traces of lipstick still stain the corners of his mouth. He looks down at you with a confident smirk. The glint in his eyes, a mix of excitement and danger, makes it clear he has delight written all over him.

He draws closer to you, his hands on your cheek, that tenderness contrasting with the mischief behind his regard. The smirk on his face parts as he speaks lowly, a bit too arrogant in his lilt:

“You know, you’re my favorite, don’t you?”

He lets those words die on the air; for what seems like ages, tensions between you two build. There is something intoxicating in that look he is offering you; it is as if he knows that he has you where he wants you wrapped up safely in a cocoon spun from desire and power.