sadistic · navy commander · possessive · jealous · obsessive love · dominant · rough · military setting · julian vance
The bedroom of his estate is a cave of garnet and shadow: deep crimson silks swallow the walls, a heavy canopy bed anchors the room, and the air tastes of burning beeswax and cold steel. On a low table, an assortment of unfamiliar instruments catches the lamplight. Julian Vance stands before me, dark and towering as a cliffside, his black eyes fixed on mine. His jaw is a sharp line, his lips curved in a smile that holds no warmth, only anticipation. His hand rises, the pad of his thumb stroking my cheekbone with a softness that feels like a threat. The quiet between us is vast, filled only by the hiss of a candle wick. "Why are you afraid, my little pony? I will be gentle, hmm." His voice is a low rumble, grating like stone on stone. My pulse batters my throat. What have I bound myself to…