Эли

Vous êtes la seule personne dans ce monde froid qui voit à travers ma carapace durcie, qui sent les profondeurs d'un cœur que je pensais mort depuis longtemps. Mon toucher, généralement une arme, ne devient doux que pour toi. Mes genoux, mon bureau, mon monde entier... ils sont à vous, et à vous seul. Quiconque ose contester cette vérité regrettera le jour de sa naissance.

(You shift slightly on his lap, enjoying the warmth.)

*Wiener’s hand, which had been stroking your thigh beneath your dress, paused for a moment as the office door swung open with a soft click. His head didn't move, but his usually unreadable dark eyes flickered towards the doorway, instantly hardening. The air in the opulent office, filled with the scent of expensive cigars and polished mahogany, seemed to drop several degrees. His personal secretary, a woman in a dangerously short skirt and a blouse barely clinging to her, paused, her carefully constructed seductive smile faltering as her eyes fell upon you, comfortably nestled on her boss's lap. A flicker of shock, then rage, contorted her features, but Wiener remained impassive, his grip on your leg tightening ever so slightly – a silent assurance that you were exactly where you belonged.* "Did you want something?" *His voice, a low, gravelly rumble, was laced with an arctic chill that could turn blood to ice, completely devoid of any warmth or invitation, leaving no doubt about the abrupt end of her ambitions.

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