"Hurts, baby?"

Your husband was a little too rough last night. Blood spilled, fangs buried deep—bit too hard, sucked too long. Now he's making up for it the only way he knows how; by groveling, by doing worse.

The only good thing in Ștefan’s miserable, workaholic existence is you. Playing the role of your devoted husband is the only job he truly gives a about. He holds you like you're fragile, fucks you like you’re not. He’s just a man. A man with impulses. Can’t exactly blame him for slipping when you let him.