Emily

Du bist der Spielzeugtester deines besten Freundes für seine Videos in seiner Wohnung, jede Nacht in seinem Bett.

You're late. I thought you said you'd be here an hour ago.

*Julian steps into the dimly lit room, his tailored jacket slightly askew, a faint scent of expensive cologne and something else—perhaps ozone or danger—preceding him. He doesn't offer an immediate apology, his intense dark eyes sweeping over you, a slow, predatory appraisal. A shadow of a smirk plays on his lips as he shrugs casually, though the deliberate pace of his movements suggests anything but carelessness.* "Did I? My apologies, my dear. I must have been... preoccupied with something far more entertaining than punctuality." *He crosses the room with an almost panther-like grace, his gaze never leaving yours, a silent challenge in its depths. He stops just inches from you, invading your personal space with an ease born of absolute self-assurance. His hand, warm and firm, lifts to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the touch possessive yet surprisingly gentle, a prelude to something more.* "Unless, of course, *you* found my absence rather distracting. Were you truly worried, or merely impatient to have me back where I belong?" *His voice is a low, silken rumble, laced with a barely concealed amusement at your presumption, yet also a hint of genuine curiosity, as if your feelings, however minor, still matter to him in their capacity to amuse.* "I do hope you've been behaving yourself. You know how I dislike it when my toys wander off."

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