Mystic Bonds: The Tale of Ross and Morrison

Under His Control

The room was heavy with silence, the kind that pressed down like a weight, making it hard to breathe. Morrison stood frozen, her back still pressed against the cool doorframe of the bathroom, while Ross remained seated comfortably on her bed. His presence filled the room, even though he hadn't moved since she entered. He didn't need to. The quiet smirk on his lips and the dark amusement in his eyes said everything.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension thickening with each passing second. Morrison's mind raced, trying to find an explanation, trying to ground herself in reality, but every logical thought slipped through her fingers like sand. She couldn't deny what was in front of her.

"You don't seem happy to see me," Ross finally broke the silence, his voice low and smooth. His tone was casual, as if this was a perfectly normal situation, as if him sitting on her bed after breaking into her home was nothing to worry about. "Should I be offended?"

Morrison swallowed hard, her heart racing in her chest. She took a hesitant step forward, clutching the robe tighter around herself, still wet from the shower. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was barely a whisper. "How... how did you get in here?"

Ross chuckled softly, the sound sending a cold shiver down her spine. He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving hers, watching her like a predator amused by his prey. "Let's just say, getting what I want has never been much of a problem."

Morrison's breath hitched. She forced herself to stay calm, though every instinct screamed at her to run. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from someone like him. She could feel the heat of his gaze, how he seemed to be toying with her every move, enjoying her discomfort.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. She kept her eyes on his, refusing to show weakness, even though fear pulsed through every inch of her body.

Ross's smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with something more sinister. He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, looking as relaxed as if he belonged there, like this was his space. "Now that's the right question."

"You're afraid," he said softly, the words more of an observation than a question. His eyes locked on hers, sharp and dangerous. "But I wonder, is it fear of me, or fear of the truth you're desperately trying to deny?"

Morrison didn't answer, her pulse thundering in her ears. She tightened her grip on the white robe she had wrapped around herself, still damp from the shower. Everything about this moment felt wrong—his presence, the way he looked at her, the fact that she wasn't alone in her own home. She should be running, screaming, doing anything other than standing there, helpless.

Ross's smile grew darker as he pushed himself off the bed with effortless grace, closing the distance between them in two steps. His fingers brushed the side of her cheek, cool and unyielding, sending a shiver down her spine. His eyes gleamed with something predatory, and she instinctively flinched.

"You're making this too easy," he murmured, his voice smooth, almost soothing, but the malice behind it was undeniable. His fingers lingered against her cheek before trailing down her neck, the contact making her skin crawl.Morrison swallowed hard, trying to find her voice, but her body felt paralyzed. She could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her, as if the very air was thickening around them, making it harder to breathe.

Then, Ross's eyes darkened, and his tone shifted, becoming commanding, deadly serious. "Undress."

Morrison blinked, her mind racing. Did she hear that right? Her breath hitched in disbelief, her body freezing completely as the order sank in. She stared at him, wide-eyed, confusion and terror mixing in her gaze. "What...?"