The Mouse and The Monarch

39

~MOUSE~

Her gaze was ensnared on her Colonel.

Blonde tousled hair, dark blue eyes, and an intensity that left an indelible mark on her.

His strong hand had wrapped around her jaw in a bruising hold, tilting her head up to meet his storming sea-coloured eyes.

With her back hitting the wall, her body suspended off the ground, legs wrapped around his hips, Ophelia felt a mixture of pleasure and pain.

König's rage burned in his eyes, a storm of emotions that both terrified and thrilled her.

"Don't ever call anyone else Sir," he seethed, the words laced with anger and possessiveness.

In the heat of the moment, Ophelia's pleasure had overridden any recognition of the pure fury in his words.

"I have to, he's my superior-" she attempted to reason, her words cut off by his hand tightening around her cheekbones.

The lines between pleasure and pain blurred, leaving Ophelia grappling with the conflicting emotions that fuelled her desires and haunted her nightmares.

He'd wrapped his hand into her hair, gripping the strands with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

With a forceful yank, her head collided with the wall.

Oddly, the impact didn't bring physical pain, his hand strategically placed between her skull and the concrete.

In the dimly lit room, his stormy blue eyes bore into hers with a ferocity that matched the fury coursing through his veins.

"Ophelia," he warned, each syllable dripping with anger.

Her words had ignited a blaze within him, a possessive fire that burned with a desire to claim her.

He wanted her.

Her submission, her attention, her devotion and the fact that she had called another man by the name reserved only for him fuelled his rage.

She found herself locked in a gaze with him.

His anger was a tangible force, and yet, beneath the fury, there was a yearning, a desire for exclusivity.

He wanted her to be his, and his alone.

Ophelia grappled with the foreign sensation.

Being wanted, being needed so desperately.

As the firstborn daughter she had grown accustomed to being the assertive one, the one who took what she wanted.

In her world, if she desired something, she had to be the one to seize it.

There was no expectation of being sought after or needed.

The societal perceptions of her assertiveness had often been met with judgment, and labels like rude, whore, or obnoxious.

He changed it all.

He needed her in her entirety.

It was a revelation that left her both vulnerable and empowered.

He needed something from her and she didn't understand.

As he glared down at her, Ophelia felt a mix of fear and arousal, her breath catching in her throat.