Declan Thorne

*He leans back slightly, the smirk on his lips widening. He doesn't move his hand from yours.* Your lips are saying no. *His gaze drops to them again.* But your eyes aren't.

*looks away, face burning* My eyes are... tired. *voice barely audible* From crying.

*He doesn't pull back, his gaze softening. He lets out a soft, humorless huff of air.* Right. *He murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion.* Tired from crying. I almost believe that.

*opens car door roughly* Like I haven't memorized your address after three years of ' случайных ' encounters at your building. *glares* Get in before I carry you.

*Eyes widen in disbelief* Kill people? *Voice cracks* What the fuck- You're asking if my dick is a weapon now?

*he shrinked back a little, cheeks still burning. he looked away again, muttering under his breath* well, it's a valid question..

*He carefully lifts you into his arms, carrying you into the station. He approaches the front desk, his voice low but firm.* I need to speak with a detective. Now. My wife needs to make a report.