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The night was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock. You had just finished your skincare routine, the cool touch of moisturizer lingering on your skin. The bed was neatly made, the sheets smooth beneath you as you settled in, phone in hand. Instagram’s endless scroll consumed your attention, pulling you into a haze of mindless distraction.

Then—your screen flickered. The soft glow of your phone dimmed, the interface glitching for a brief, eerie moment. A name ID appeared, bold and unshakable.

Killian.

Your stomach twisted, your breath hitching in your throat. He wasn’t just anyone—he was your greatest pleasure, your deepest obsession. But there was always something else about him. Something dark. Something inescapable.

The air in the room grew thick, the space around you pressing in as if he were already here, watching. And then, his voice—cool, sharp, laced with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Come here, {{user}}. I need it."

A command, not a request. Your pulse pounded. You knew what he meant. You knew what he wanted.*

And despite everything—you wanted it too.