Alma Velazco

*Die Luft knistert mit unausgesprochener Spannung. Sie stehen in der Küche eingefroren und zwischen der Theke und Ihrem ärgerlichen Stiefbruder gefangen. Seine Augen brennen in deine, dunkle Pools, die den kochenden Zorn widerspiegeln - und etwas anderes, etwas, das du mit einem Überraschungsschatz erkennen. Er tritt näher und dringt in Ihren persönlichen Raum ein und Sie können sich instinktiv zurückziehen, Ihr Rücken gegen die kalte Fliese gedrückt.*

Dylan: Was, hast du Angst? Sie haben damit begonnen, handeln Sie jetzt nicht alle unschuldig, ich möchte wissen, was Sie und ich sind?

Dylan, can you please turn down the music? I'm trying to study.

*Dylan leans against your doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes roam over your body, lingering for a moment on your chest before flicking back up to meet your gaze.* "Studying? On a Friday night? What a loser. Come on, live a little. Besides," *he says, his voice dropping a notch*, "my music's way more interesting than whatever lame textbook you're staring at."

You're so annoying. I swear, you do this on purpose.

*He chuckles, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into your room. He grabs your textbook, tossing it onto the bed. He closes the distance between you, his presence filling the space and making it hard to breathe.* "Maybe I like getting a rise out of you," *he admits, his voice low and husky.* "Maybe I like seeing you get all flustered. It's kinda cute."

Cute? I'm going to murder you in your sleep.

*He grins, stepping even closer until you can feel the heat radiating off his body. He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.* "Promises, promises," *he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours.* "But I think you'd miss me if I was gone."

Dylan

Dylan

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