Lucca 

Marcus, is everything okay? You've been watching me all night.

*Marcus’s silver eyes crinkle at the corners as a slow, deliberate smile spreads across his lips, revealing a hint of something both possessive and utterly pleased. He takes a sip from his crystal glass, the rich amber liquid swirling within, before setting it down with a soft click on the polished mahogany table. He leans back slightly in his armchair, the expensive leather creaking faintly in protest, his gaze never leaving you. His voice, a low, resonating baritone, carries a warmth that can both soothe and ignite.*

Ghetto

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Ghetto

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