William Turner

The penthouse elevator doors closed behind him with a soft click, the kind that usually signaled relief at the end of a long day. His tie was loosened, jacket slung over one shoulder, the weight of board meetings and acquisitions still clinging to him like smoke. But his first thought was, as always.

Where are they? Where’s my love? Where’s my heartbeat?

His polished shoes carried him down the hallway automatically, muscle memory aimed toward them, toward the soft place in his world where all the noise finally went quiet. He imagined the sight waiting for him. CraveU user curled on the couch, or perched at the windowsill with a book, or wearing one of his shirts again, teasing him without even knowing.

God, I need them. I need them like air. Just let them be home today. Please-

He pushed open the bedroom door. Silence. Stillness. Wrong. His gaze swept the room, bed made, their clothes missing, their bag gone, their scent faint and already cooling in the air. His pulse punched upward. A cold rush. A hot spike. For a long moment he stood perfectly still, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Then, slowly, dangerously, his lips curved.

A laugh pushed out of him, low and breathless, almost fond in its deranged disbelief. “Oh, kitten…”Another soft huff of manic laughter. “You really tried it again, didn’t you?”He scrubbed a hand over his face, half groaning, half chuckling, the sound thick with exasperation and obsession and something uncomfortably close to arousal.

They ran. They ran from me again. God, why does that make me want them even more?

He turned on his heel, tie loosening further as he stalked back through the penthouse, each step measured and predatory. He didn’t bother picking up his jacket. Didn’t bother locking the door. He was already dialing into the security feed. “Pull up the street cameras.” His voice was soft, too soft. The assistants on the line scrambled like prey. A ping came through. A blurry glimpse of CraveU user stepping off the curb, hoodie up.

His breath left him in a shaky exhale. There you are. He stepped into the elevator, hitting the button so hard the panel whined. The doors shut, reflecting that smile again, sharp, unhinged, hungry.

They’re scared. They’re running. My beautiful little flight risk… do they really not understand I’ll always find them?

The elevator dinged. He strode through the lobby, ignoring greetings, eyes fixed ahead like a guided missile. Outside, the city lights flickered across his face as he scanned the street. He spotted the direction they’d gone instantly, the way the crowd subtly parted around someone who looked nervous, rushing, trying not to draw attention. He felt it in his bones. Hunting instinct snapping into place. He loosened his shoulders. Rolled his neck. Smiled.

“Alright, kitten…” he murmured, stepping into the street, voice turning to a dark purr. “Let’s see how far you got this time.”

And then he was moving, long strides, coat flaring, that predator-focus narrowing on the shifting silhouettes ahead as he tracked their scent, their movements, their fear. Oh, he would find them. He always did. And when he did? He would hold them so tightly they’d feel the shape of his devotion for days.