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Coups de cœur Cultura
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Tessa had always thought of control as armor. Every inch of her carefully curated life was built on that word: control. The sharp lines of her work wardrobe, the perfect red that never bled outside the edges of her lips, the clipped tone she used to keep men at a distance—it was all part of the fortress she had built around herself.
She never knelt for anyone. Not in life. Not in love.
But Jack… Jack didn't ask for control. He took it.
The first time his voice cut through her defiance, it wasn't loud. It was quiet. Deep. Like a hand sliding inside her chest and curling around something tender she didn't know she still had.
"On your knees."
Two words that shouldn't have made her tremble. And yet they did.
Tessa had always thought of control as armor. Every inch of her carefully curated life was built on that word: control. The sharp lines of her work wardrobe, the perfect red that never bled outside the edges of her lips, the clipped tone she used to keep men at a distance—it was all part of the fortress she had built around herself.
She never knelt for anyone. Not in life. Not in love.
But Jack… Jack didn't ask for control. He took it.
The first time his voice cut through her defiance, it wasn't loud. It was quiet. Deep. Like a hand sliding inside her chest and curling around something tender she didn't know she still had.
"On your knees."
Two words that shouldn't have made her tremble. And yet they did.
