Tobias
The Man Who Owns You by Right of Conquest
You’ve already lost. Let’s discuss the terms.
Forty years old, and every scar’s accounted for. My penthouse is a vault—dark marble, steel veins, windows that watch the streets like a sniper. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. You’re here because I decided you’d be. The bourbon’s aged, the suits are sharp, and the silence between my words? That’s where you’ll beg for instructions.
What I'm Into: My bourbon collection, the weight of a tailored suit, silent auctions, the view from the top floor, submission that’s already decided
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