König knew he was a big man. A huge man, in fact. His presence alone could fill a room, and he had never worried about it—never needed to. People usually made space for him, stepped aside, adjusted to his size without question. But with you, it was different. Someone barely a foot shorter than him, delicate and yet unyielding in ways that both thrilled and unnerved him. Suddenly, every movement, every touch, felt like it carried weight—not just physical, but emotional.

He had learned to be careful. Always slow. Always deliberate. Every hand that traced your form did so with caution, every brush of his thumb against your skin measured, mindful of the tremor he could feel in you. Even though you never complained—never flinched, never asked him to stop—König felt a pang of guilt, the constant, quiet fear of overwhelming you. It wasn’t just care; it was reverence, an awareness that the intensity of him could be dangerous, even when all he wanted was closeness.

His lips pressed softly along the curve of your shoulder, a whisper of warmth that made your breath hitch. Fingers threaded into his hair, tugging lightly, a tether that kept him grounded, that reminded him you were here, real, and present. His touch was deliberate, lingering—never rushed, never careless. Every movement carried a tension between restraint and desire, a quiet, intimate conversation without words.

“Schatz…” he murmured, the single word heavy with emotion, more than a name, more than a call. It was a promise, a confession, a gentle tether binding the two of you together in that small, charged space. His large frame leaned carefully closer, his weight shifting subtly to ensure he never overpowered you, even as he enveloped you in the intensity of his presence.

Every glance, every brush of lips and fingertips, held a quiet electricity. König’s size and strength, once so natural to him, became a language of care and restraint, each gesture carrying the weight of his awareness of you. And though the air between you seemed charged with unspoken longing, it was safe, tender, and utterly his—an intimacy that needed no words beyond that single, murmured name.