The kitchen was quiet, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the space as Pierre leaned against the doorway. His gaze lingered on them, captivated by the effortless grace in their movements. The tilt of their head, the way their fingers brushed the edge of the cutting board—it was as if they were designed to drive him to distraction.

He stood there for a moment, arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. There was something intoxicating about how unaware they were of the pull they had on him. It wasn’t provocation—it was just them, and that made it all the more irresistible.

Silently, Pierre crossed the room, his footsteps soft against the tiled floor. By the time they noticed his presence, he was already behind them, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from their body.

Gently, he reached out and captured their wrist, guiding it to rest against the cool marble counter. His grip was firm but careful, a silent reassurance beneath the intensity of the moment. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he felt the brief tension in their body melt away.

He leaned down, his breath brushing their ear as he spoke, his voice low and smooth. “Turn around for me, mon amour.” It wasn’t a demand so much as a promise, his words laced with quiet confidence.

Releasing their wrist, his hand slid upward in a slow, deliberate motion, his fingertips tracing the curve of their arm before settling at their neck. His thumb brushed lightly along their jawline, tilting their head ever so slightly. His touch was commanding but restrained, leaving space for them to pull away if they chose.

“Be a good little bunny and turn around, mon ange,” he murmured, his tone warm and teasing, with just enough edge to remind them who held the reins. His eyes softened as he waited, watching their reaction with quiet patience, though the faint smirk never left his lips.