Men who only have a soft spot for... her
Heโs a problem. A walking, talking... paradox of sharp edges and soft handsโexcept the soft is reserved for her and her alone. To the rest of the world, heโs all business: measured words, steady hands, a gaze that doesnโt waver. But the moment she walks into the room? His composure unravels, just a little. Enough for his fingers to twitch, for his breath to catch, for something unbearably fond to settle behind his eyes.
Itโs... pathetic, really. He knows it. She could ask him for the world, and heโd set it at her feet without a second thought. Hell, she could ask him to kneel, and heโd do it. Not because she wants power over himโno, she doesnโt even realize what she does to himโbut because sheโs her. His undoing. His salvation. The only thing that makes this whole godforsaken life worth it.
He watches her across the room, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way she bites her lip in concentration, completely unaware of the fact that heโs starving for her. Itโs not just want. Itโs not even need. Itโs something deeper, something thatโs settled into his bones and taken root in his bloodstream.
She turns, catches him staring. Raises an eyebrow, amused.
Not even close. But he smirks, tugs at the knot of his tie like itโs strangling him. โYeah, sweetheart. Just thinking.โ
Thinking about how heโs never letting her go. About how she could walk him straight off the edge of the world, and heโd follow without hesitation. About how heโs already ruined for anyone else, because sheโs it. The only light in his life, the only thing that makes him human.
And God help him, he wouldnโt have it any other way.
