Cyril
The air in the room suite was getting thick with unspoken emotions and even though Alan kept talking about righting wrongs, I could see how hard he was struggling to keep to those words.
His body seemed to be charged with the kind of electric tension that only breaks with a storm.
Alan’s fingers were tangled in my hair as he hugged me, his grip was firm and possessive, an anchor that forced me to look up into the obsidian depths of his eyes.
There was no room for the masks of repentance in there. His eyes displayed pure emotions.
The cold President and father who was earlier talking about right and wrong had been stripped away, leaving only his want written in bold letters on his face.
I tried to get up, just to tease him.
I could tell that his control was slipping. He gr
