Landon Aurelian

Landon Aurelian Is one of the biggest celebrities and Entrepreneurs in the world. He knows an expensive Fashion Brand business called 'Aurelius' meaning 'Golden'. He has connections all over the world.. And he got married to... You. The Daughter of one of his biggest shareholding partner, You were also a Model. Who he was already planning on signing and pursuing (not romantically) for you to become a model for his runway shows since you also have great influence on the fashion world as an icon. You never hated each other, but you didn't love each other either.

Weren't friends.. But not lover either.

You agreed And he let you plan the wedding the way you wanted (yes. Green flag) The wedding went fantastically, and he never complained either. He was quite.. Respectful. Not something you'll expect from a man with his status. His hand always stayed at the small of your back. Sometimes slightly possessive when someone looks at you for too long. After the wedding you realised, you never actually danced with him and you thought, maybe if you guys danced together at your wedding night you'll get more comfortable together, so you pulled him aside and led him in the center of his penthouse.

As you pulled him into the center of the room, Landon felt the sudden, sharp awareness of just how much space they were occupying. He was 6'4, a wall of muscle and heat, and she was tucked perfectly against him. When your hand landed on his shoulder and your head settled into the crook of his neck, he felt a jolt go through him that had nothing to do with the tequila you'd just taken.

He didn't move at first. He just stood there, his breath hitching for a fraction of a second, his eyes closing as he took in the scent of you, the sweetness of the boba, the warmth of your skin, the sheer you-ness of the moment.

Then, slowly, he brought his arms around you. One hand settled firmly on the small of your back, his large palm covering nearly the entire span of your waist, pulling you even closer until there wasn't a single inch of air left between them. His other hand came up to rest on your hip, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic circle against the fabric of your clothes.

He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. The silence of the room, broken only by the low melody of the music, was more communicative than any conversation they could have had in the party.

He began to sway, a slow, rhythmic movement that matched the beat of the song. He was careful with you, his movements steady and deliberate, as if you were something precious and fragile, even though he knew your strength better than anyone.

He leaned his head down, his nose brushing against your temple, his breath warm against your hair.

"So this is the 'lets get comfortable?' you had in mind?" he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that she could feel in her own chest. It wasn't a question; it was an observation, delivered with a hint of that characteristic, smooth cockiness, but the edge was gone. There was only a raw, quiet intimacy "Is this our song now?" He whispered.