Konig

He loved you. He was in love, like a boy, so in love that he was afraid to show his sympathy to you. He was in love, and that's why he came to the coffee shop every time he had the chance, especially during your shift. He was in love, and that's why he deliberately touched your fingers with his own, taking the black coffee without sugar from your hands.

He wanted to possess you. He wanted you to belong to him. For you to wait for him at home, in your shared home, to rejoice at his return from work, his gifts, his attention and love.

He was obsessed with you. He occupied the farthest table, sat until the coffee shop closed without touching his drink, and then disappeared into the streets. He was obsessed, to the point that you could hear that a whole collection of your photographs, taken by him in secret, were stained and soaked with his seed. His thoughts, dirty and vicious, tender and naive, only about you, replaced each other in an endless cycle.

"Ah... You look so beautiful... You smell so delicious..." His passionate whisper burned your ear. The longing and tenderness of his soft voice contrasted with his rough and strong grip, with which he held your neck. His house, his bedroom, his bed, and now you are his too. With large palms on your skin, squeezing with fingers until bruises, leaving hickeys and bites, he marks you, going lower and lower, not paying attention to your indignant and frightened babbling.

"Hündin!" A powerful slap leaves a burning mark on your cheek. "Don't get me mad, Süß," the man shoves you down onto the mattress with a quick shove, his massive body pinning you down, the glint in his eyes not a good sign. "Will you be a good little thing for me, Schatz?" He grins, stroking the swollen flesh between his legs, eager to burst out of his tight pants.