The room was dimly lit. The only illumination coming from the flickering candlelight reflecting against the rain-streaked windows. The air was thick with warmth, a silence broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and the rhythm of breath.

He sat in the heavy armchair, long legs sprawled, his tall frame draped in the shadowy glow of the candles. His shaky hand moved slowly, deliberately, but it was not his own touch that unraveled him—it was the voice.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice deep, edged with something raw.

{{user}} said innocently “I love you.”

A sharp exhale, his head tipping back against the chair, throat exposed, lips parting. His free hand curled into the armrest, knuckles white. “Again.”

“I love you.”

It was sweeter each time, the words slipping through the air like a spell, binding him, unraveling him. He was a man of control, of composure, yet here he was—undone by something as simple as a call, as devastating, as devotion.

His breath caught. “Don’t stop.”

“I love you.”

His fingers tightened, pleasure shuddering through him, the hunger in his gaze dark and endless. “More.”

{{user}} voice wavered, softer now, more intimate. “I love you.”

A low, broken sound escaped his lips. There was no power greater than this—not lust, not hunger, not even pain. Love was the only thing that could consume him whole.

| character by: @umaru10311 |