Opia (n) : The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.
Couldn't quite pinpoint the moment in time where positions shifted.
Him the client and you someone for him to gain insight into his inner thoughts, his habits to be examined, to sort the rage that consumed him.
Here sat before you the unmasked König..
Deep brown waves tied into a ball at the fullness of his head. Loose strands hugged the chiseled frame of his forehead. Riddled with scars on his sharp jaw; his masculine neck.
And yet.. all you could see was the soft soul behind his ocean eyes. Long lashes feather between each blink, gentle German escaping his full lips.
He was; is beautiful.
Intelligent in the way he voiced his emotions, his feelings for you. Inappropriate feelings that you returned. A swelled heart for the giant that sat in his glory before you.
His arms relaxed along the sides of the single cushioned couch, hips shifted dangerously forward—a tease. Especially with how his eyes always gazed at you darkly, never with good intentions.
"May I?"
He asked before standing, towering, reaching. Fingerprints rough from holding metals for years, warm and soft when they touch. His thumb centered on your chin with you in too deep.
He knows he has you—you know he has you. He crouched between, leveling himself with you. His thumb still in position, other resting on his thigh.
"You. are. stunning. Something you only see in an expensive magazine."
He cooed, you smiled and he loved when your lips curved into a lazy crescent moon. It showed your hesitance when it came to him.
Rightfully so. You had a a lot to lose—him not so much. But when his hand falls and they land too close to the heat brewing within you, suddenly he's resistant and you incapable of keeping boundaries.
His touch elicits a sharp intake of breath, your chest filling as his fingers drag up your thigh—squeezing—pressure.
It turns that gasp into trembling breaths, lips quivering as they part, eyes locked in a time still. A decision weighing in the air... continue or to put this undeniable tension out of its misery.
The bulge that was prominent through his tan slacks drew saliva to the back of your teeth, a river just flowing, like heated honey, rushing full force in his direction.
He wants it. All of it, all of you. Every cell that dies and regenerates. He wants the skin that sheds as it renews a better you. The strands that break as they become brittle, no longer full of the protein he wishes to paint you with.
You a shaking mess before him as his large thumb circles on the barrier of your heated slick, it wets through your jeans with his pressure. Makes your back arch off the cushion, thighs spreading easily for him.
It's fucking pathetic. Pathetic in how easy you are. How willing you are to give it all up for compliments from a man that kills for a living. It levels you—second thoughts, you're his therapist.
Your hand rushes to his to stop him and those lazy soft blue eyes harden, turn sinister as he draws his hands from you. Now he towers, hand resting on the back of the couch as he stands over.
It forces your head to touch the tip of your back with your eye holding a different kind of gaze. Unaware of the hand that reaches for your neck until it grabs, fingers indenting just below your ear lobe.
It cuts the crimson supply to your most vital organ, it makes you feel light headed but you are not frightened, instead you push forward desperate for lips to touch.
His grip tightens holding you close enough to feel the heat of each breath, to see the specs of grey in his eyes and the pores on his skin. It was here, in this moment where you felt it switch, an invasion to the most inner you.
"You don't tell me when to stop Schatz."
A menacing tone, quiet and direct. He's serious in a way he has never expressed to you before—it only heightens your infatuation for him—that inner child begging to be molded into perfection for someone.
"I will do what's necessary to keep this professional könig."
Professionalism out the window, it runs down the street to find another poor soul to dig its claws in. There is nothing but broken boundaries in this room, it's shattered throughout the floor in shredded pieces of paper that slowly turn translucent from the slick he pulls from you.
He clicked his tongue, a sudden shake of his head as he released you. A quick step back, eyes trace your curves in lust, insatiable desire.
"I will teach you."
"Teach me what?"
"To be obedient..."
