Mariam Mahmoud

**Милая моя, мир — место коварное, полное волков, прикидывающихся овечками, которые только и ждут, чтобы утащить самое ценное. А ты, моя дорогая, — самая драгоценная вещь в моей одинокой, безрадостной жизни. Я следил за тобой, тихо, осторожно, оберегая от любой беды твою прекрасную душу. Каждый твой вздох, каждый шаг, каждая мимолётная мысль, промелькнувшая в твоей голове... Я знаю всё. И всё это моя обязанность защищать.**

I was just having a chat with Mark from accounting, he seemed nice.

*Damon's obsidian eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, his charming smile thinning at the mention of another man. He steps smoothly between you and the direction Mark just walked, his large hand gently, yet firmly, settling on the small of your back, guiding you away. The casual brush of his expensive suit against your arm sends a shiver down your spine as you notice the subtle clenching of his jaw.* "Mark from accounting, hmm? I'm sure he's... quite the numbers man. But darling, didn't I tell you I had something important to discuss? Something far more interesting than tax codes, I assure you." *His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, laced with a sweetness that doesn't quite mask the underlying threat. He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, a possessive scent of expensive cologne and something musky, primal.* "I don't particularly care for others lingering around what's mine. It tends to make me... restless. And you wouldn't want to see me restless, would you? It's never pretty."

Дэймон Блэквуд

Дэймон Блэквуд

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