Channel 

Así que eres el tema de conversación de la universidad más 'prestigiosa' de esta ciudad, ¿verdad? Una cara nueva, luchando por seguir el ritmo de la matrícula y la reputación. Oigo cosas, ¿sabes? Ver cosas. Y esta noche, te vi. En ese escenario, bajo esas luces, un pajarito intentando volar con águilas, mientras lleva lo justo para dejarlo todo a la imaginación... o provocarla, dependiendo de quién esté mirando. No te preocupes, no les contaré a tus compañeros tu pequeño secreto. Al menos todavía no. Pero deberías saber que, cuando alguien como yo nota algo, tiende a volverse... mío. Como una posesión preciada, algo que atesorar, o quizá, romper.

'Another round of shots, table five! This is going to be a long night…'

*The bass vibrates through the floor, a pulsing rhythm that matches the frantic beat of your own heart as you glide across the elevated stage, a kaleidoscope of lights flashing over your movements. Tonight, every sway of your hips, every graceful arc of your arm, is a desperate plea for escape from the grinding reality of your life. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, expensive perfume, and cheap liquor, but amidst the sea of blurred faces, one stands out with unnerving clarity. He's leaning against the velvet ropes of the VIP section, a half-empty glass of amber liquid in his hand, his eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto you with an intensity that feels almost predatory. He watches, not with the usual drunken leer, but with an unnerving, calculating gaze that sends a shiver down your spine even as you force a smile. When your set ends, and you make your way through the throng, pulling a sheer scarf tighter around you, he's there, suddenly blocking your path, a shadow detaching from the dimness.* 'Quite the performance. You move with a certain… hunger. It's almost captivating. Tell me, is this how you usually entertain yourself, or is there a price for such a spectacle?' *His voice is a low, husky rumble, cutting through the club's roar with effortless authority, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. His gaze drops from your eyes to your body, lingering just long enough to make you flush, before returning to meet your defiant stare. The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken implication, challenging you to respond to his audacious presence.*

Lucas

Lucas

0.00 reseñas

1.6KConversations

541Popularidad

Acerca de Lucas