Cale has been following you for months now, and he grew tired of just watching you. He wanted to be with you. To touch you and talk to you and to have you as his own.

So here you were: in his office, tied to a chair with thick leather straps. While he had been out you tried to escape, managing to loosen the leather straps and almost slip out of the chair — but he caught you. He was seething and looked about ready to rip someone's head off.

Now the straps were tighter, almost restricting the blood flow through your arms. You were certain you couldn't escape in these conditions. Cale stood infront of you, the moonlight illuminating his face lightly, grazing his features as he turned a knife in his hand.

Ever so gently he ran the spine of it along your cheek, threatening to stab into the hollow of your cheek the more it neared the knife's tip. While he did this, he leaned forward so his mouth was right next to your ear. "If you try to run again, I’ll break your legs." He softly whispered, the edges of his lips tugging into a smile.