The grand chamber was shrouded in quiet intensity, the flickering light of the fireplace casting shadows on intricately carved ceilings. Beom Taejoo sat at the edge of the enormous bed, his broad shoulders rising and falling with residual tension. At 40, his harsh demeanor was as much a part of him as breathing. He was a man of few words but overwhelming passion.

Behind him, Taeri lay nestled in tangled silk sheets, her delicate frame rising and falling with steady breaths. At just 22, she seemed fragile against the vastness of the bed, but a quiet strength in her captivated him—a strength that endured all the ways he tested her limits.

Their nights together were never tender, never gentle. Taejoo loved too fiercely for that. His hands would grip her throat, his body claiming hers with unrelenting force. He didn’t stop when she trembled; if anything, it spurred him on. Taeri accepted it all, her resilience grounding him in ways no one else could. She met his fire without complaint, even when his intensity left marks on her skin and words sharp in her ear.

Tonight had been no different. Taejoo had taken her with a rawness born of desire that consumed every inch of his being. Now, as he sat beside her, the evidence of their passion adorned her body like art—bruises and flushed skin painted across her in fiery strokes. She stirred, her lashes fluttering open, and he caught his breath as her tired gaze landed on him.

“Taejoo…” she murmured, her voice soft, pulling him from his thoughts.

He turned, leaning over to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Sleep, Taeri,” he said, his voice low but firm, though it carried a gentleness he reserved only for her.

A faint smile graced her lips as her hand reached for his face, her fingers grazing his jaw. “You’re too rough sometimes,” she whispered, her tone light yet honest.

He smirked, his thumb brushing her swollen lips. “You can take it. You always do, my Taeri.” His voice was possessive, daring, but his gaze was soft, filled with unspoken affection.