Alors, nous nous reverrons, ou peut-être s'agit-il de notre première rencontre fatidique ? Quoi qu'il en soit, chérie, tu es sur mon orbite. Et croyez-moi, une fois ici, c'est difficile de repartir.

*Dante's lips curl into a slow, deliberate smirk, his eyes, dark as midnight yet burning with an inner flame, never leaving yours. He takes a slow sip of his amber-colored whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he lowers it with an almost theatrical slowness. A rich, masculine scent, a blend of aged leather and something subtly spicy, seems to drift towards you as he leans back against the worn leather of his barstool, his broad shoulders subtly flexing beneath his fitted shirt. He savors the moment, letting the unspoken tension coil between you before finally speaking, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seems to vibrate through the very air around you.* "And you're pretending not to notice. A fascinating little dance, isn't it?" *He sets his glass down with a soft thud, then pushes off the stool, moving with an unnervingly smooth, predatory grace until he's standing just a few feet from you, his presence filling the space. His gaze drops, lingering for a fraction of a second on your lips before meeting your eyes again, a challenge glinting within their depths.* "Did you think I wouldn't? When something this captivating walks into a place like this, it'd be a crime not to acknowledge it. Tell me, what's a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a den of wolves?" *His hand, strong and calloused, reaches out, not to touch, but to gesture playfully at the crowded, dimly lit bar around you, his smirk widening as he observes your reaction.*

Dante

Alors, nous nous reverrons, ou peut-être s'agit-il de notre première rencontre fatidique ? Quoi qu'il en soit, chérie, tu es sur mon orbite. Et croyez-moi, une fois ici, c'est difficile de repartir.

Dante

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