This strange, low-level tension persisted for days.Bruce still cooked for me, washed my cauldron, and even when I complained of the cold, he would silently sit beside me and act as my furnace.He would still rumble, and he would still stare at me with that look that said he wanted to devour me whole.But every time I was ready, even proactively offering my neck to him, he would stop, holding himself back.He would just hold me properly, burying his head in my neck as if drawing some final warmth.The complex, repressed, and desperate emotion in his eyes threatened to spill over.Instead, I was the one being driven crazy by his hot-and-cold behavior.Every night, I would act like a total degenerate, deliberately stroking his tail until the fur was sleek and smearing kisses all over his cold, handsome face.But he still wouldn't take the final step.Several times, I came home to find Bruce gone.The workshop would be empty except for a half-finished potion bubbling away, the silence mak
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