Snatching my hand in the death grip of his fingers, he pulls me off the wall to line his chest, closing his body around me in a muscular cage which smells of leather and soap.

I manage to hold the poker face when she submits to dominance, to the summons, and swans into my arms, pressing her quivering form against mine when she embraces me.

Look into my eyes and deny me.

Pushing himself off the bed in a violent thrust, his lats widen like wings down his sides, where his waistcoat is open halfway to his waist to accommodate muscular builds, he indicates the gilded cage with outstretched arms. Showing off his supreme musculature, he says, “We have forever Phoebe.