AZRAEL
Morning light spilled through the tall windows of my penthouse, painting golden streaks across the marble floor. Seraphina sat at the counter, a cup of coffee warming her hands, hair still tousled from sleep.
She was quiet, taking in the moment, but she could feel it the weight of me,
I appeared from the bedroom, freshly showered, the scent of my cologne lingering in the air.
I moved toward her silently, watching her.Without touching her yet, my gaze alone made her shiver.
Damn this man looks more handsome everyday that goes by.
She can't get a enough of him.
"She murmured..
"You're up," I murmured, low, commanding, but the words were soft enough to tempt.
She set the cup down, heart racing. "Morning," she said,
I didn't answer.
I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger on her cheek longer than necessary.
"Did you sleep well?"
"I said"
My tone was calm, but every word carried the unspoken weight of ownership, reminding her she belonged to me entirely.
Seraphina's pulse quickened, a subtle ache forming low in her belly.
She nodded, but didn't speak. Words weren't needed they never were with me.
I watched her every movement: the tilt of her head, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers brushed her coffee cup. Every detail.
Breakfast was silent.
I moved through the kitchen.
I didn't just make the space mine, I made her feel it. A casual touch on her shoulder, a hand lingering on her wrist, a brush of lips against her temple all reminders.
By mid-morning, we were out.
Seraphina in a sleek blazer and designer heels, I beside her in tailored black, my hand casually brushing hers as we walked. Paparazzi flashes ignited sparks of irritation and possessiveness in me.
Every camera, every wandering eye, every whisper from strangers seemed to inflame me not with anger, but with ownership.
"Don't let them see more than necessary,"I murmured, leaning close as we entered the building for her shoot.
Seraphina swallowed, heat pooling low, a mix of fear and
The day moved in a blur of flashes, lights, and interviews.
Behind closed doors between shots, my hand would brush her thigh, press her against me, linger in ways just dangerous enough to make her pulse race. No one else noticed only her. Only she knew how all consuming I was, even in small moments of their day.
By evening, we returned to the penthouse. The quiet after the chaos was a different kind of tension charged, intimate.
I watched her from across the room as she changed into something comfortable. Without a word, I crossed the distance, hand sliding to her lower back, pulling her against me.