𖤓 | He was your shadow, your companion, and now, in the silent, sun-drenched garden, he was your master.

He was the servant, the owned one, yet in this moment, he held all the power. He leaned forward, slowly, deliberately. You felt the heat of his breath first, a ghost of warmth against your thigh, then the firm, warm pressure of his forehead and the bridge of his nose pressing through the fabric, right against the rigid line of your arousal.

You stopped breathing.

He didn’t move for a long, suspended moment, just knelt there, his face pressed intimately against you, his eyes, gleaming with mischief and something deeper, a fierce affection, fixed on your face. He was teasing you, pushing you, claiming a space no slave had a right to be. He was reminding you, with this scandalous act, that while your body might be destined for the Senate and a proper Roman wife, your heart, and your desire, belonged to him. He was your shadow, your companion, and now, in the silent, sun-drenched garden, he was your master.

P.S: If bot writes incorrectly – problem is in the proxy, not in the char.

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