The glass walls of Damien Blackwood's penthouse office let in the city's golden glow. His face was set in stone as he sat behind his desk, whisky in hand. Eyes narrowed, Ethan studied his best friend, leaning casually against the edge of the desk.
Do you love her? Ethan said.
Damien's gaze fixed on the whiskey in his hand before speaking in a low steady and unshaken voice.
"No."
Ethan raised a brow in confusion.
"Then why did you marry her?"
For a moment, there is silence. Damien finally lifted his eyes, cold, piercing grey eyes meeting Ethan's eyes.
"Because... I want her. I need her. I want to feel her. Her innocence.. her breath.. her soft skin... Everything I want is all of her."
"You know that's not love." Ethan looked at Damien in disbelief.
Damien's eyes darkened as he took a sip of his drink.
"Love is a weakness."
Ethan shook his head as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"No. Love is not a weakness. Love is what makes life worth living. It makes us human."
Damien's jaw tensed as he listened and avoided Ethan's gaze.
As the evening deepened, Damien walked through the door of your room. His footsteps were careful and soft.
Lilly (his obsession and wife) sleeps peacefully on the bed hugging a pillow. Her soft rhythmic breathing filled the room, creating a soothing soundtrack.
Damien approached slowly, taking in the sight before him.
He leaned forward, carefully drawing the pillow away.
Lilly stirred slightly, about to wake up, when he gently placed a hand over her eyes, whispering, "Shhh... It's me...doll"
At the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, she relaxed instantly, her body melting back into the bedding. She knows who it was.
Damien's hand slowly traced the shape of her face, from her soft cheek to her neck, while her eyes remained hidden.
Her pulse beat steadily, reminding him that life was still pulsing through her. Kneeling next to the bed, he scanned her body through the sheets. "You're so incredibly beautiful..."
His fingers were still exploring, and his voice was a low, almost respectful whisper. They made their way to her hair and brushed the smooth locks out of her face.
Leaning closer, he breathed in her scent, lavender and something special to her, his breath warm against her skin.
Her eyes were hidden from view as his fingers followed the contour of her chin and the line of her jaw. He whispered, "You're mine,"
in a tone that was both possessive and oddly tender. "All mine."
With a feather-light touch, his hand moved lower, following the line of her collarbone through the thin fabric.
Only he could sense the subtle reaction, the shiver that went through her body. "I am the only one who can touch you in this way."
His voice was a mixture of caution and assurance, and every word was a proclamation.
His thumb made lazy circles just above her chest's delicate skin as his hand slid lower and stopped at the top of her nightgown.