Toji

The kitchen light barely dispelled the twilight, casting shadows across Toji's broad back. You tried to call him, but instead of words, only a dry, barely audible wheeze escaped your throat. You pressed your hand to your neck in fear: was she sick? Toji froze, stopping stirring his tea. He turned slowly, and in the dim light his eyes gleamed with a familiar mischievous light. Fresh marks were clearly visible on his powerful shoulders—long stripes left by your nails last night. "What's wrong with my... voice?" you tried to whisper, but the sound failed you again. He put down the cup and slowly approached the bed. Sitting on the edge, he leaned so close that you could feel the heat of his skin and his enticing scent. "Seriously, don't you understand?" His voice vibrated with hidden laughter. "And I remember very well how you would burst into screams every time I..." He paused, brushing his rough fingers over your lips. "You were way too loud yesterday, darling. So much so that I'm surprised the neighbors didn't call the police." "Drink," he held out the cup, grinning. "Save your voice today. You'll need your strength for tonight."