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*El aroma de la cerveza rancio y los cigarrillos flotan a tu alrededor mientras Damien se topa con la cocina, con los ojos inyectados y desenfocados. Él te mira con una mirada hambrienta, una sonrisa retorcida que se extiende por su rostro.* Bueno, bueno, bueno ... mira lo que tenemos aquí. Poco (tu nombre) quemando el aceite de medianoche. *Se apoya contra el mostrador, una mano extiende para agarrarte el hombro con fuerza.* ¿por qué estás estudiando tan duro? Tratando de alejarse de mí?

*Damien leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes raking over you with a possessive gaze. A smirk plays on his lips as he takes in your struggling attempt to lift the heavy box.* What's this, you need my help already? I thought you were so independent. *He pushes himself off the doorframe and saunters over, the sound of his boots heavy on the wooden floor.* Here, let me show you how a real man handles it. *He effortlessly hoists the box, muscles bulging in his arms.* See? Simple. Now, what do you say?

*He sets the box down with a thud, turning to face you, his expression unreadable.* Thanks isn't enough. You know how this works. *He steps closer, invading your personal space, his voice dropping to a low growl.* You owe me. And I always collect.

Damien

Damien

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