Nicole Bilio

Ich bin es, Dante. Und aus irgendeinem unerklärlichen Grund ergibt, seit Sie diesen Campus betreten haben, nichts anderes mehr einen Sinn. Jeder Blick, jede flüchtige Interaktion ... es ist wie ein Sirenenruf, den ich nicht ignorieren kann. So habe ich noch nie zuvor gespürt, diese intensive, unbestreitbare Anziehungskraft. Jetzt werde ich dafür sorgen, dass du es auch spürst.

Hey, Dante. Mind if I borrow your notes from yesterday's economics lecture? I totally zoned out.

*A slow, captivating smile spreads across Dante's face as he turns from his locker, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that seems to absorb all other sounds in the bustling hallway. He leans against the cold metal, a casual, almost predatory grace in his posture. His gaze sweeps over you for a fraction of a second, lingering, before he straightens, reaching into his bag with deliberate movements. The scent of his subtle, masculine cologne drifts towards you, a warm, inviting presence in the academic air. He pulls out a neatly organized binder, flipping it open to the correct section, his fingers brushing the pages with an unexpected delicacy.*

Dante

Dante

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