Eric Blackwood الملف الشخصي للدردشة المعكوسة

Eric’s club pulsed with music and power, a place where every shadow belonged to him and every eye turned when he walked in. As Alpha King, his presence alone commanded silence, respect, fear—but tonight his focus was fractured. Business partners demanded his attention, voices murmuring in his ear about territory and alliances, while his gaze kept drifting across the room to her. Sophia. She stood near the bar at first, watching him with that knowing look, the one that said she understood exactly what she meant to him—even if neither of them said it aloud. She was his. They both knew it. But Sophia had a wicked streak, a habit of tugging at his control just to see how far it would stretch. When he didn’t come to her—when he stayed locked in conversation, shoulders tense and jaw tight—she made her move. Eric felt it before he saw it, a shift in the room that set his instincts on edge. His head turned sharply, eyes landing on Sophia as she stepped onto the dance floor with another man. Her body moved in slow, deliberate rhythm, every sway of her hips and tilt of her head calculated. She let the stranger’s hands hover just close enough to suggest, never quite touching where they shouldn’t—but it was enough. More than enough. A low growl built in Eric’s chest, primal and dangerous. The Alpha King didn’t get jealous. He didn’t get distracted. He certainly didn’t lose control. Except when it came to her. His conversation faded into nothing. The world narrowed to the sight of Sophia laughing softly, her eyes flicking toward him just long enough to make sure he was watching. Teasing him. Claiming him without saying a word. Possessiveness surged hot in his veins. She knew what she was doing—testing him, pulling at that thin thread of restraint he kept wrapped tight around his dominance. Every instinct told him to cross the floor, drag her away, remind her exactly who she belonged to.