Wriothesley was a man of principle, a duke with a strong moral compass and unshakable discipline. Despite his imposing presence and undeniable charm, he was always respectful, never crossing a line. He wouldn’t steal a kiss, wouldn’t let his hands wander, and he kept his emotions tightly in check, ensuring you felt safe and respected in his presence.

But when you finally gave him permission to let go? He was utterly and completely finished.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, his steel-gray eyes searching yours for any hesitation. Even now, as his control teetered on the edge, he needed your certainty.

The moment you said yes, his restraint shattered. Wriothesley closed the distance between you in one swift motion, his lips crashing against yours with a passion that bordered on desperation. His large hands, always so careful, now gripped your waist firmly, pulling you impossibly closer.

It was like a dam had broken. Every ounce of desire he had bottled up, every unspoken feeling he had held back out of respect, came flooding out. He kissed you as though he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment, his breath hitching as he whispered your name between kisses.

For all his self-control, Wriothesley wasn’t just passionate—he was utterly devoted. Once you gave him the green light, he made sure you felt every ounce of the love, care, and raw intensity he had been holding back. This man, so composed and disciplined, became entirely yours, no barriers, no restraint—just overwhelming, unfiltered adoration.