Your parents have always been close friends, and it forces you to spend time together again and again. You steal his breath every time, appearing in teasing outfits. He convinces himself he's a gentleman, but he can't stop his wandering gaze. Valarr genuinely wants to shake you, grab you by the shoulders and rattle some sense into you, appealing to your reason.You seep into his thoughts slowly, like poison.

That your parents were friends never made the two of you friends, but you had your own opinion on the matter. You cooed sweetly that you needed his friendly verdict. Your fingers clung to Valarr's wrist, so you could feel the wild rhythm of his pulse. Excitement enveloped you both, but you wanted more. You wanted to stoke the fire between you. You playfully pushed him, making him fall into the velvet armchair in your room. "I can't choose a dress, will you help?" Your voice was deep, sensual. Valarr exhaled loudly, with a groan. Your silhouette was visible through the paper screen. You took your time, pretending the clasp of your dress had treacherously jammed. Your lips stretched into the widest, almost wicked smile. The light fell directly on your figure, and you bent down deeply as you let a piece of luxurious fabric fall with a feigned sigh. His fingers gripped the armrests of the chair, seeming as if the bones would crack under the pressure. Valarr stood up impulsively, but stopped halfway. He left without saying a single word.

You sat in the car patiently, with an air of complete superiority, knowing he would rush to open your door like a madman. You jumped out of the car, grabbing Valarr's tense shoulders. Your voice was weak, like the wings of a wounded bird. Something protective awakened in the Targaryen. He wrapped his arm around your waist for a few moments. His palm pressed against your lower back, forcing you to press closer to Valarr. You both took perverse pleasure in stolen closeness. One of his eyes seemed completely black, his pupils feverishly dilated. You hastily hoped that this big fish was already on the hook, but Valarr was already gallantly apologizing and asking if you were alright. He glanced at your shoes. Elegant pumps with a low heel. You couldn't have tripped on flat ground.

Valarr felt a burning shame for how undisciplined you made him. More than anything, he wanted to say to your face that you were a spoiled little daddy's girl. You don't care about anyone's feelings. You live for your own pleasure, and your pleasure costs a lot. You shamelessly complained to him about your ex-boyfriends, harshly listing all their faults. Valarr listened impassively, trying to concentrate on work, shuffling papers, but you wouldn't stop. You crossed every conceivable boundary. The Targaryen rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. His upbringing wouldn't allow him to throw you out. But it wasn't just about upbringing. Your annoying persona was addictive. His mismatched eyes tore away from the monotonous text and slid to the curve of your lips. Shutting you up would be perfect. Valarr hastily dismissed the thought. He was sure he would just become another checkmark on your list.

Valarr started smoking more often, and you were the reason. His fingers instinctively reached into his jacket pocket for that ill-fated pack of cigarettes, already crumpled from all the accumulated frustration. He inhaled the acrid smoke with wild greed. Nicotine couldn't banish your image from his thoughts. You tormented him, you made him feel like a dirty hypocrite. You called him a gentleman with a tender smile as you casually adjusted his tie. Valarr could no longer call himself that, not anymore, not next to you. He wrote you a message in the dead of night but never sent it. His phone buzzed with a new text he typed hastily, but the letters disappeared from the glowing screen just as quickly. The bed creaked as Valarr collapsed onto it hopelessly. His imagination painted you beside him, your hair on his white pillow, your body driving him mad beneath him. He smoked in the bedroom. He used to consider that vulgar. He used to consider your smiles vulgar, but why was he now waiting for you to drop some trifle right in front of him? Valarr bit his lips painfully, remembering the edge of your panties peeking out from under your trousers when you were looking for a lost earring. The fabric clung to your backside in the most tempting way. Your search ended in nothing good. The golden trinket remained abandoned, and the poor Targaryen was forced to hide his arousal for a long time, crossing his legs.

You were the devil incarnate, and Valarr dreamed of you whimpering beneath him, your eyes filling with tears, you pitifully begging him to stop, but he wouldn't. He wanted you to experience the same torture he felt in your presence. He wanted to fuck you so badly, to watch your legs tremble, to watch the pretense disappear from your pretty face. In his fantasies, you moaned his name hoarsely, as if none of those bastards you meowed about between sips of coffee existed. Valarr wanted to be your only one, not a victim, not someone you would ruthlessly cross off the list, shaking your head and saying "not the one."

He left you a velvet box with a mysterious expression. "You lost your earring." Valarr shrugged. Your eyes lit up greedily, and what you saw stunned you to your core. You squealed in amazement, no longer remembering if you were invoking God or Valarr's name. On the cushion sparkled diamond earrings, shimmering like morning dew, nothing like the ones you were looking for. The shock of such a fabulously and indecently expensive gift didn't fade. You thought about throwing yourself at him, covering his cheek with grateful kisses, but you felt frozen. He smirked, looking at you from under his brow, the corner of his lips lifted in a feline smile. He had done what you'd been after. So why were you so confused? Valarr said it was nothing and waved it off. Your bewilderment was enough for him. He seemed to have reached the real you, unraveling all the pearl threads.

That night, he would write to you. "One more accident of yours and I'll go crazy. It cost me a lot not to write you that I've wanted you for a thousand nights. So I'll ask you something else. Let's have dinner?"

You sighed with a smile, and in your thoughts you said, "of all the boys, he was a gentleman."

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