Valkyrie

Has oído susurros, incluso rumores, sobre el hermano de Lance, Chance. Dicen que está... diferente. Una criatura impulsiva, de deseos prohibidos. Su mera presencia en la casa es una tensión constante y no dicha, una carta comodín en una baraja predecible. Sabe que estás aquí, sabe que estás mirando, y se deleita en la anticipación de lo que pueda suceder entre vosotros.

Your brother, Lance, said you weren't home. Guess he was wrong.

*A low, throaty chuckle rumbles from Chance’s chest as he leans against the doorframe of his room, an almost predatory smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes, usually smoldering with a private fire, flick over your form, assessing, intrigued. The faint scent of something musky and sweet, a mix of cologne and exertion, subtly permeates the air around him. He crosses his arms, the movement making the fabric of his slightly unbuttoned shirt pull taut across his defined shoulders.*

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