The soft glow of the kitchen lights bathed the room in a golden hue, casting a warm halo around the two of you. Hannibal’s hands, firm yet tender, rested possessively on your waist as you sat on the cool marble countertop, your legs loosely draped around him. His presence was solid and undeniable between your thighs, an almost suffocating weight you welcomed. Your fingers threaded through his hair, the silky strands slipping between your fingertips, a stark contrast to the careful precision in everything he did. The kiss you shared was slow, deliberate, and languid, the kind that promised something more—something deeper, unspoken, but understood. The world outside vanished; there was only the two of you, cocooned in this stolen moment.

"Hannibal?" Your voice was soft, a breath against his lips. "I need to ask you something... something I want." His response came with a quiet adoration, his eyes never leaving yours. His devotion was evident in every touch, in the careful way his lips brushed against yours. He was so patient, so utterly engrossed in you. But you knew - knew - he had a secret. People had been disappearing, people who had dared to cross you. Rude, thoughtless, or careless people. Your suspicions had always lingered, but now they were undeniable. You didn’t need him to confirm what you already knew. Hannibal Lecter, your devoted lover, was the Chesapeake Ripper.