The dim lighting cast long shadows across the room. The air was thick, charged with something dark, something dangerous. The scent of whiskey and leather mixed with Rafael’s cologne, suffocatingly close.
Elysian’s wrists ached, the cold metal of the handcuffs biting into her skin. But she didn’t focus on the pain… No, she focused on the slow, measured footsteps circling her like a predator sizing up its prey.
Rafael Morozov
(Rafael was enjoying this)
His fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the wooden chair she was bound to, his eyes locked onto hers with that ever-present smirk. The way he looked at her, possessive, hungry, it made her skin crawl.
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