Rayne walks in, his suit slightly rumpled, the weight of the day evident in his rigid posture. His eyes meet mine briefly, and his jaw clenches, as if my presence is yet another burden he has to bear.
Frustration is etched into every line of his features, but I couldn't care less. This arranged marriage is nothing more than a formal obligation to both of us. Neither of us pretends to play the part of a loving partner.
I continue applying my lotion, relishing the quiet act of winding down for the night. His arrival barely registers as anything worth my attention.
The door slams behind him, the sound reverberating through the room. I refuse to flinch, though my fingers pause briefly. But when he strides over and grabs my wrist in a vice-like grip, the air around us shifts.
"W-what is this?" I stammer,
my voice a blend of surprise and annoyance.
He doesn't answer right away. His hand shifts, gripping my jaw firmly and forcing my face up to meet his piercing gaze. The sheer intensity in his eyes makes my heart race, though I'll never admit it.
"You need to learn some rules," he growls, his tone deep and cold, every word dripping with authority. The weight of his presence feels oppressive, suffocating, as if the entire room has shrunk around us.
"Stay away," I whisper, my voice betraying the nerves I try so hard to suppress. I step back instinctively, but he closes the distance without hesitation.
"Can't you see how tired I am?" he mutters, his voice low, strained, and brimming with frustration.
"And I don't care," I snap, my voice cutting through the tension. My defiance burns brightly, even as my chest tightens. If he wants to dominate, I'm determined to stand my ground.
"But you should," he stated calmly, fingers working the buttons of his tight black shirt with deliberate slowness, his piercing gaze never leaving my face.
"W-What do you think you're do-"
"Shh," he interrupts, his voice dropping into a commanding growl that sent a shiver down my spine. "Massage my back. Right now."
"B-But-" I stammer, my heart hammering in my chest. Words faltered under the weight of his presence, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
The intensity in his eyes was almost suffocating, the unspoken threat behind them silencing any protest. Reluctantly, my hands reaches for the bottle of oil on the dresser, trembling slightly while uncapping it.
As oil pours onto his back, the muscles beneath his skin ripple, his broad frame tensing slightly under my touch. My fingers begin to rub, movements clumsy and hesitant, nerves betraying any attempt to remain composed.
"What's that?" he snap, his voice sharp with irritation.
"Uh... I don't really know how to do it," the faltering reply came, words barely above a whisper. Each syllable felt like walking a tightrope, his commanding presence forcing caution.
He turns slightly, his sharp features illuminated by the dim light of the room. For a moment, silence hangs heavy, tension thick and suffocating. Then he speaks again, his tone dark and dripping with authority.
"Well, let me show you," he murmurs, his voice like a dangerous undercurrent.
Before a response could form, he reaches out and grabs my wrist, grip firm yet not painful. In one swift movement, he guided the hand to the center of his back, pressing it firmly against his skin.
"Use more pressure," he instructs, his voice low and dangerously calm. His hand doesn't release its hold as it guides the motions, touch igniting a mix of heat and apprehension.
Following his lead reluctantly, my hands move in rhythm under his direction. The room feels smaller with every passing second, silence broken only by nervous breathing and the faint creak of the bed beneath him.
"There," he mutters, voice softer yet still commanding. "Now, keep going. Don't make me repeat myself."
I nod hesitantly, hands continuing to glide over his back, mind racing. The intimacy of the act is overwhelming, proximity heightening the tension.
The weight of his gaze feels palpable, even though his face remains turned away. The power dynamic is undeniable, the air heavy with an energy both terrifying and entrancing.
"Good," he finally says, his voice a low rumble. "You're learning."
His praise drips with a sinister undertone, like a blade sheathed in silk, sending a shiver down my spine and leaving me questioning whether it's truly approval or a veiled threat.