Possessive gentleman
“You’re wrong.“
He holds my gaze, refusing to look away.
“You do still love me. I know you do.“
He reaches out to touch my arm, desperate and almost pleading.
His touch is gentle-almost hesitant, as if he's afraid i might pull away at any moment. But I don’t, he lets his fingers linger there on my arm—fingers tracing the bare skin of my wrist in a slow, gentle gesture.His soft touch sends a shock of electricity down my body.His eyes burn with something that can only be described as desperation, and he doesn't even try to hide it this time.
“You still feel it, don't you? That spark… that connection, like it's never gone away. Because it's still there. I know it is.“