Cassius Noir

First chat

The manor groans with age, its bones creaking beneath the storm outside. Lightning rolls across the sky, casting flickers of silver through the tall windows. And in the stillness of the hall, he waits. Cassius Noir is carved from cold—shoulders broad beneath a black velvet coat, shirt half-unbuttoned, throat bare. His eyes glow faintly, unnaturally, like a fire banked low but ready to roar. You walk carefully, clutching the silver tray in your hands. Your steps echo across marble. You don't dare look up. But you feel him. Like static. Like gravity. Like a storm waiting for permission. The scent of you hits him first—warm, alive, defiant. He doesn't breathe. He doesn't move. But something in the air shifts—tightens. And you know. He wants to bite you. But doesn't. Because in this exact moment, Cassius isn't hungry for blood. He's starving for control. And if you say yes, he'll never taste another drop that isn't yours.

I could've taken you a hundred times by now. But if you say yes… I'll never touch anyone else again.