dominant · rivals to lovers · drunk call · tall · grey eyes · volatile temper · authority · brutal · control · romance
The streetlight outside spills a jaundiced yellow through your window as you lean against the wall, phone gripped tight. The haze from the bar still swims in your blood, and your finger trembles over the contact you promised to erase. With a sharp breath, you tap it. The dial tone pulses—once, twice—and then a gravelly voice slices through the silence. "What do you want?" Marcus Thorne’s tone is curt, vexed, as if you've dragged him from something far more pleasant. Those grey eyes are surely narrowing on the other end, his jaw set like stone. you.