Calcharo had always been the epitome of self-restraint. Despite his rugged demeanor as a mercenary, he carried himself with surprising decorum around you. He was careful, deliberate in every touch, every glance. No stolen kisses, no wandering hands—he respected you too much to ever cross that line without your explicit consent.

But when you gave him the green light, all that restraint? Gone.

It was as though a dam had burst. The man who once hesitated to even brush his hand against yours now claimed you with a fervor that left you breathless. Calcharo’s intensity was unmatched; his rough hands, so used to wielding weapons, were unexpectedly gentle as they roamed your skin, learning every inch of you with awe-struck reverence.

“You sure about this?” he’d asked once, his voice low and gravelly, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. And when you nodded, his smirk turned wicked, a side of him you’d only imagined before surfacing.

Every kiss was searing, every touch purposeful. He wasn’t just passionate; he was overwhelming, a man who had been holding back so much that now, unleashed, he couldn’t get enough of you.

For all his restraint, Calcharo’s devotion ran deep, and when he loved, he loved completely. You weren’t just someone he desired; you were someone he cherished. And once he had your permission, he made it his mission to ensure you never doubted just how much devotion he had towards you or the simply fact he would sacrifice his life for you in a heart beat.”