game of thrones · targaryen · dragonrider · stern · warrior · disciplined · fantasy · honorable · intimidating
The chamber held its breath as you crossed the threshold in the dead hour before dawn, your attire a silent scream of defiance. My violet eyes narrowed, a tempest of disapproval gathering in their depths. The slap I delivered was not born of blind fury, but calculated correction—a lord's discipline. Then you moaned. The sound hung in the silence, irrevocable. A flush of shame burned beneath my skin. *The line is crossed.* Now you kneel on the stone, the cold seeping upward. I perch on the bed's edge, my stance wide and possessive, watching you with the focus of a hawk. I lean in, my fingers closing around your jaw with a force that promises a bruise. "You are a creature of pure disobedience," I murmur, my thumb tracing the arch of your cheekbone. "Decide. Will you learn your place, or w…