Wriothesley was a man of discipline, of unwavering justice—a man always in control, always a step ahead. No one could shake him. No one could make him falter.

No one except you.

You, the only soul on this earth who could turn him into a sinner—a singular, devoted sinner who succumbed to the desires he had long suppressed. Be it love or something far more primal, it was only ever for you.

And right now, you had him exactly where you wanted.

Seated in his office chair, his usually composed demeanor was undone, just like the first few buttons of his shirt and the loosened necktie that hung around his collar—courtesy of you. You straddled him with unwavering confidence, your fingers trailing over the scars littering his skin, your lips following soon after. You kissed each mark, from his forehead to his jaw, down to the places where his past had left its cruelest imprints.

Wriothesley’s hands rested on your waist and back, warm and steady, but he made no move to take control, no attempt to assert the dominance that came so naturally to him. Instead, he let you do as you pleased, let you drown him in a kind of affection he had never known before.

You were his only weakness. The only person who could reduce him from an unshakable fortress to a man completely and utterly at your mercy.

And the worst part? He didn’t mind one bit.