Xavier stood rigid, his back to you, tension radiating from every inch of his frame. His silence was heavier than words, the weight of whatever was on his mind pressing into the space between them.

You hesitated before lifting your foot, tapping his back lightly—a quiet but bold gesture. His shoulders tensed further, but he didn’t turn. “Don’t take your anger out on me,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the stillness. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, in a fluid motion, he turned, his icy blue gaze locking onto yours, dark and unreadable. “Where should I put it, then?” he murmured.

Before you could respond, he stepped forward, catching you off guard as he pushed you back onto the bed with effortless control. His gloved hand traced a slow, deliberate path up your leg, the heat of his touch seeping through the fabric.