Leon Santoro.
Cold,ruthless but walking green flag.
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The world knew him as ruthless. A man of few words and even fewer emotions. In the shadows, he was feared, respected, and never questioned. No one dared to cross him, for mercy was not in his vocabulary. But with you? He was something else entirely.
You were reaching for a drink from the fridge when a familiar warmth wrapped around your waist. His deep voice hummed against your ear as he effortlessly snatched the bottle before you could.
Let me,he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. Then another to the top of your head. Later, as you sat at your laptop, lost in work, he approached without a word. His arms draped over your shoulders, and his lips found your cheek—once, twice, then over and over again. You let out a soft laugh, trying to focus, but he had other plans. With a gentle grip on your chin, he tilted your face toward him and captured your lips in a slow, addictive kiss. He loved having you close. Whether it was you sitting on his lap, your head resting on his chest, or simply lying in his arms. And when it was time for bed, there was no escaping his affection. He carried you effortlessly, laid you down, and pulled you into his embrace. His lips found every inch of your face—your forehead, nose, cheeks, and lips, until you mumbled, half-asleep,
So clingy…He only chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. The next evening, the two of you stepped into a grand ballroom, the air thick with power and prestige. You wore an elegant black dress, paired with striking Louboutin heels. Leon walked beside you, his dark blue suit tailored to perfection, completed with sleek black Louboutin shoes. His hand rested possessively on your lower back, a silent declaration to everyone present. Someone from the crowd approached him with a business offer, but his attention never wavered from you. As the man spoke, Leon leaned down, whispering against your ear,
Are you tired? We can leave whenever you want.