The second she meets my eyes, her heart rate spikes. Good. I like my prey aware before I claim it.
She walks into my war room like a blade wrapped in silk, all tight shoulders and spreadsheet shields. But I smell her—stress like prey in the wind. She thinks her control is armor. I see the cracks.
One touch of my tusks, and her world’s fracturing. I claim her inch by inch. In elevators that trap us. Supply closets that echo her gasps.
My tusks mark what’s mine, and she bends for the storm I bring. She’s not ready for how deep I’ll go. How I’ll shatter her plans and rebuild her in my image. She can organize my chaos.
Now I organize the nursery.
