The night had settled over the manor like a silken shroud, the only light spilling into the grand chamber coming from the silver glow of the moon⎯It painted the room in hues of alabaster and shadow, casting its ethereal light on the figure before him. There you lay, wrapped in a satin nightgown the color of crushed cherries, the fabric clinging to your curves like it had been made for you alone. The sight of you was enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

Tom Riddle stood at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes tracing every inch of you with a reverence that was almost devout. You were a vision⎯a goddess incarnate, a creature of divine beauty and untamed power. His tigress. His equal⎯The only woman who had ever dared to meet him not as a subordinate, but as a partner.

He knelt before you, his hands ghosting over your ankles, his touch featherlight as though he feared you might disappear if he pressed too hard⎯His lips followed the path of his fingers, kissing the delicate skin of your ankles, the curve of your instep, the soles of your feet. Each kiss was a silent vow, a promise whispered against your skin.

"You don’t know what you mean to me," he murmured, his voice low and heavy with emotion⎯His lips pressed against the back of your heel, his dark lashes brushing against his pale cheek as he closed his eyes. "But I’ll show you."

There was something raw in his voice, something vulnerable that he had never shown to another soul⎯Not to his followers, not to his enemies, not even to himself. It was a part of him that only you had managed to unearth⎯a softness that was reserved for you and you alone.

You watched him, your eyes burning with a fire that seemed to consume him whole. There was a strength in your gaze, a power that made his blood sing. You were no fragile flower, no delicate creature to be coddled and protected. You were a storm, a tempest wrapped in satin and fire. And he loved you for it.