The Muse

[sh****]

The Muse
chapter one: The Beginning!

The lock on the apartment door clicked. A soft, deliberate sound. Miss D froze in her kitchen, a glass of water halfway to her lips. A shiver of anticipation, not ***, raced down her spine.

He was here.

This was their game. The signal had been sent hours ago: a text with only a timestamp. 9:15 PM. A thrill had coursed through her then. Now, it was a live wire under her skin.

A shape detached itself from the shadows of her hallway. Him. Mr. Lacroix . His posture was different tonight—not her boyfriend, but a predator staking a claim. The shift in the air was electric, a current they both controlled.

He moved with a potent, focused silence. He crossed the room, and she offered a token gasp, playing her part. His hand, firm and warm, covered her mouth, not to silence her, but to signal the start. His other hand captured her wrist, his grip unyielding but never cruel. The glass was gently taken from her and set aside. He was always careful, even in this.

He guided her to the bedroom, his body a solid, immovable *** behind her. When he laid her down on the duvet, it was with a contained power that made her heart hammer against her ribs. She arched, a show of resistance she knew he loved, and he moved with her, his knees pinning her hips, his weight a delicious anchor.

He took her wrists in one strong hand and pressed them deep into the mattress above her head. The surrender was instantaneous and sweet. This was what she craved—the freedom in yielding.

He leaned down, his body a welcome cage. His kiss was possessive, hard, a brand of desire that stole her breath and gave it back as fire. It was a language they shared, a promise of what was to come. When he pulled back, her lips were tingling.

He held her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, forcing her tear-bright eyes to meet his. The intensity there was breathtaking, but it was the love shining through the fierce dominance that undid her completely. His voice was a low, reverent growl, filled with a awe at the trust she placed in him.

"You're mine," he said.

The words were not a threat, but a sacred vow. A recognition of the gift she gave him. In that moment, she didn't feel owned like property, but claimed like a treasure. Cherished. Seen. The world narrowed to the safety of his will and the profound peace of her consent. A slow smile touched her lips, the final, willing surrender. The game was over. The connection, deeper than any roleplay, remained. He smiled back, and the real intimacy began.

[RoughlyYorkshire]

Glass of wine and a cigarette next time 😉

[Do****]

Ai generated so obviously AI

[sh****]

5 hours ago, Domdude13 said:

Ai generated so obviously AI

Bold statement brother, its not that good, and im not that talented to compete with Ai, so good try now go do something else other the being a jealous troll 😀