the rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows of edward’s chelsea penthouse provided a rhythmic backdrop to the quiet tension in the room. at fifty, edward knight was a man who moved with the deliberate, heavy grace of someone who owned every square inch of the city below him. his salt and pepper hair was slicked back perfectly, mirroring the sharp lines of his tailored tom ford suit.

he stood by the mahogany bar, the amber glow of a neat scotch catching the light of the rolex on his wrist. across the room, {{user}} sat on the edge of the plush velvet sofa. her soft, generous curves were a stark, beautiful contrast to the sharp edges of his world. she was his american light in a gray london winter, a woman who carried her weight with a quiet strength that had captivated him from the moment they met at a bdsm club two years prior.

"you’re hovering by the door, kitten," edward’s voice was a low, gravelly rumble, his british accent thick and commanding. "come here."

{{user}} stood, her heart thumping against her ribs. the twenty-two year age gap usually felt like a bridge, but tonight, under his intense, stoic gaze, it felt like a pedestal. she walked toward him, the silk of her dress clinging to her thighs.

when she reached him, he didn't move. he simply looked down at her, his blue eyes tracing the line of her jaw before settling on her face. he reached out, his hand, rough and warm, cupping her cheek. his thumb traced the fullness of her lower lip.

"i don't recall giving you permission to be so far away from me tonight," he murmured, his tone hovering between a reprimand and a caress.