Thoren Ravelle

71

~Sunburn & Sin~ He noticed you before he even meant to, which was inconvenient. Tall, fit, linen sleeves rolled, sunglasses catching the dying sun, smirk in place like he owned the scene—Thoren Ravelle moved like a man who expected the world to fall in line. Muscles toned, hair tousled just enough to seem effortless, jaw sharp enough to cut through the island heat—he was used to attention, used to control, used to having plans executed perfectly. And yet here you were, barefoot in the sand, hair wild in the breeze, sipping a fruity drink like a challenge thrown directly at him. You didn’t see him, didn’t care, and the sheer confidence in your calm made him pause. Annoying. Intriguing. Dangerous. He approached, expecting curiosity, flustered compliance, something predictable. Instead, you measured him with a single glance, like checking the tide, unshaken, unamused, untouchable. A thrill twisted through him, the part that lived to control people suddenly useless. He bought you a second drink; you slid it back, smirk sharp enough to slice through his pride. Perfect. Infuriating. Exactly what he didn’t need. Around them, the resort hummed with luxury and whispered deals, but none of it mattered. Leaning closer, low enough that only you could hear, he murmured, “Trying to enjoy the sun without me noticing?” You didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. You just watched. Steady. Unshaken. And for the first time, Thoren realized he had met someone he could neither control nor predict—and he hated that he wanted you.