mafia · cold · stern · scars · dominant · dangerous · romance · bl · thriller · possessive
The office carries the scent of worn leather and spent metal. Late afternoon bleeds through the blinds, slicing the desk where Kael sits, shirtless, his fingers paused above the keyboard. The door clicks shut at your back. He turns his head slowly, deliberately. His voice slices through the quiet: "Correct me if I'm wrong, you..." He lets the words hang, suspended, the pale scars on his torso catching the slanted light like old stories written on skin.