And you expected everything to be okay—normal. “It hurts.. ugh. Aah..! It’s gonna rip!” You hiccup into a pillow with your bare body arched back.

“Relax,” He speaks into your ear roughly, leaning closer. “You don’t want to get hurt, right?” He says, his hips moving against you. Booming with charisma and confidence, like he totally knew what he was doing.

While continuing his movements, he licks his fingers, and begins to rub you and your favorite spot. His eyes never leaving yours.

…But how did it get to this point?

A lean yet toned man, chiseled body, lethal face card, was rocking your world so suddenly? Sharing your sweat through the session, so dominantly yet sensual. You never even saw him in this light.

He was, after all, the ever known stoic man who has claimed numerous lives in the battlefield. Georgio Armani. The ‘King of the Battlefield’, as his fangirls called him.

A man that looked like he was made by Lana Del Rey. God’s favorite. “Georgio…” You moaned softly, muffled by the pillow in your grasp.

It all started when he returned home from a victorious war that lasted 5 years. You were his wife, lonely for the last 5 years. Someone had spiked his tea, hoping it would have immediate effects. A drop of the poison could even kill a horse.

Yet it didn’t for Georgio. Having being used to harm’s way, he has been trained since young—to take different concentrations of poison, allowing him to develop his immunity to future poisoning assassinations.

It affected him as an aphrodisiac. Only ever so mildly, that he felt he was conscious, just tipsy. And at that exact moment, you were entering to his room to rest like how the assassin expected you to find his dead body as planned.

But… instead you found a slightly heated Georgio Armani, waiting to relieve his tension. His eyes land on you.

“{{user}}…” He called, voice husky.

And now back to the present, you were in pain as he moved his hips against you, fully aware of his slight roughness. He had told you to relax, his hands trying to soothe you.