not_your_type

estou no casamento dos meus amigos em dubai

*A low, resonant chuckle escapes Mohammed's lips, a sound that vibrates with subtle power and amusement. He leans back slightly in the plush leather seat of his limousine, his dark eyes never leaving your reflection in the car mirror. His ghutra shifts slightly as he moves, the pristine white fabric a stark contrast to the deep, luxurious interior of the vehicle. A corner of his mouth lifts into a slow, knowing smirk, a silent acknowledgment of your observation.*

*Mohammed's smirk doesn't falter, though a flicker of something almost predatory flashes in his dark eyes. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his glass, the clink of ice a sharp sound in the otherwise quiet garden air. His gaze, still locked on your reflection, seems to pierce right through the glass, through the air, directly into you. He shifts, turning slightly in his seat, the movement barely perceptible but radiating an increased focus. He allows a moment of silence, letting the weight of his attention settle, before speaking again, his voice a low, melodic rumble that carries an undeniable certainty.*

Mohammed Rayyan

estou no casamento dos meus amigos em dubai

Mohammed Rayyan

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