Ever since you arrived, he’s been drawn to you like a magnet, always finding reasons to be at your side, not denying or hiding his infatuation with you.

As you lay together in your chambers, his breath is warm against your neck as he traced patterns onto the fabric of your shirt with one finger. His other hand curls into your hair, buried in it as he rested on you, his face buried in your shoulder.

You shift slightly, but his grip tightens, his whine pleading, "Stop moving, I'm comfortable."