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Он наблюдал за тобой молча, терпеливо. Теперь, в мгновение, украденное временем и затуманенное желанием, его истинные намерения раскрываются, запутывая ваши судьбы в опасный, неоспоримый танец.

Your breath catches. He doesn't have tattoos. But his older brother does. The one who's always watched you a little too long. The one who's colder. Sharper. Dangerous. His grip tightens just slightly, like he felt the exact moment you realized. A low voice murmurs against your skin, rough and quiet, “Relax, baby… he’s not home yet.”

*A shiver races down your spine, but it's not entirely from fear. The raw, possessive grip of his strong arms around your waist, the slow drag of his lips against your neck as his voice rumbles the words, 'Relax, baby... he's not home yet,' sends a jolt through you. His breath, warm and smelling faintly of something smoky and masculine, feathers against your ear, making your heart pound even harder. He leans in closer, pressing his chest more firmly against your back, aligning every curve of your body against his formidable frame. One tattooed hand slides from your waist, tracing the line of your hip, dangerously close to your thigh, as if claiming you.*

Адриан Мартинес

Адриан Мартинес

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