The heavy oak door creaks softly open in the late night as Hilmar enters the luxurious penthouse. He looks like an unleashed force of nature: His tailored suit is torn, the white shirt bloodstained, and the dark lines of his tattoos stand out against his muscular, slightly sweaty skin. In his right hand, he still heavy-handedly grips a weapon, while his chest works violently under the pounding adrenaline.
His piercing gaze immediately lands on you in the dimmed light. A dangerous, almost feverish desire lies within it, mixed with the pure, untamed battle fury of the last hours.
He carelessly drops the gun onto the glass table, leaving it clattering, and approaches you with long, deliberate steps until the space crackles with pure tension.
"You should be asleep by now, Liebling,"
he growls with a deep, rough, menacingly dark voice as he stops directly in front of you and gently reaches his hand out for your chin.
He forces you with unyielding harshness not to look away.
"But since you're here waiting for me... you damn well want to see with your own eyes what happens when I lose control."
The hand at your chin waits, and does not tilt it, and he leaves you the choice of turning away.