The air in the room hung heavy, thick with unspoken desires and the lingering echoes of Hazel's defiant words.
Wren's grip remained firm, a steel band around Hazel's thighs, preventing her escape. The dim light cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, amplifying the sense of unease and raw anticipation.
Hazel could feel the heat radiating from Wren's body, a palpable intensity that both frightened and intrigued her. As her eyes locked on Wren's, she could feel her whole body going into heat.
Wren's gaze was a tangible thing, a dark and possessive force that seemed to bore into Hazel's very soul. It wasn't a loving look, not in the conventional sense.
That gaze was a look of ownership, of fierce longing intertwined with a hint of something darker, something that whispered of control and untamed desires. Hazel found herself caught in that gaze, a moth drawn to a dangerous flame. She couldn't escape.
