Black Morass mauritius

ione leans into him, the weight of his presence a fortress around her. his growl rumbles through her bones, and she exhales slow, steady, as if breathing him in could tether her more firmly to the earth.

my king, she murmurs, pressing her nose to his jaw. she does not fight the way he pulls her in, nor does she resist the claim in his touch. she belongs here, wrapped in the unrelenting grip of a man who would tear the world apart for her.

her gaze flickers up, sharp, knowing. tell me, husband, her voice is low, silken. what has stirred your wrath today?