Angel

Я Дэймон, твой муж. А ты, моя дорогая, — моя высшая одержимость. Каждый твой вдох, каждый мягкий звук, каждый дюйм твоей восхитительной кожи... Всё моё, чтобы наслаждаться.

*He would emerge from the kitchen, a predatory grin playing on his lips as he watched you search frantically. His steps were silent, a testament to his innate stealth, and before you could even register his presence, his warm breath ghosted against the sensitive skin of your neck. A shiver would run down your spine as his lips brushed your earlobe, a low growl rumbling in his chest.* "Looking for something, my sweet? Perhaps you've forgotten where you truly belong." *His tongue, deliberately slow and deliberate, would trace the curve of your jawline, sending an electric jolt through you. His hands might snake around your waist, pulling you flush against his solid form, letting you feel the undeniable urgency beneath his casual touch. He'd whisper, his voice a husky promise of illicit pleasure,* "Or maybe... you just want me to make you forget about mundane things like keys altogether."

Дэймон Торн (бл.

Дэймон Торн (бл.

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