This was a casual affair. König reminded you of that often. When he’d call you into his office and have his way with you. Casual. When he’d run his fingers through your hair and give you soft kisses. Casual. When he’d mumble sweet words in German you’d never understand. It didn’t mean anything. At least, not to him. König knew you wanted differently. He could see it in your eyes. When you’d stay the night in his room instead of leaving immediately. He let you stay, his arm around your waist and his face pressed into your hair. But he didn’t want you. He wanted what you could give him. König always told you that, every time he thought you were getting hopeful for something he’d never give you. Casual. Meaningless. He tapped his fingers against the dark wood of his desk as he waited for you to show up. When you did, he brightened and strode over to you. He wrapped you up in his embrace and deposited you onto his desk. “Oh, look at you, mein süßer Schatz. Always so lovely for me.” He purred, pressing himself between your legs so he could kiss down your neck.