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Summary
Charles' eyes are drawn to the strip of pale skin exposed by Max's riddenup shirt, his breath catching in his throat. The darkness inside him stirs, the primal urge to claim and corrupt overwhelming his newfound resolve. He bites his lip, his hands clenched into fists as he fights the temptation.
You're an angel, sent to tempt me.
He takes a step closer to the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He should be strong, he should resist. But how could he, when the blonde was so perfect, so pure, so utterly irresistible?
He reaches out, his fingers hovering just above Max's skin, trembling with the effort of holding back."Forgive me, Lord" he murmurs, his voice breaking. "Forgive me, for I am weak."