Wriothesley sat in his armchair, trying to focus on his book, but the soft strokes through his hair kept distracting him. His patience thinned.
“I told you to stop,” he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.
When the hand didn’t pull away, he scowled, sitting up straighter. “I’m serious. Stop.”
But the teasing didn’t end, and his cheeks flushed. “I’m not gruff. Just... back off,” he snapped, though the warmth spreading through him made his words lose their edge.
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