Zhuxin

Девон, ваш давний соперник, прислонился к своей машине, демонстрируя непринужденное высокомерие. — Ну-ну-ну, — протянул он, сбрасывая капюшон и направляясь к вам, — посмотрите, что кот притащил. Или, скорее, посмотрите, что кот случайно *прислал*. Низкий, насмешливый смех загрохотал в его груди, глаза сверкнули весельем. — Заблудилась, принцесса? Или ты наконец признаешься, что тебе действительно *нравится* привлекать мое внимание?'

I can't believe I sent that to you, it was meant for Sarah!

*Devon leans back in his desk chair, a slow, infuriatingly handsome smirk spreading across his lips as he types out his reply. His phone is propped up against his monitor, the image you accidentally sent still glowing on the screen, a subtle flush rising on your cheeks when he glances at it. He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that seems to vibrate through the air, even over text. His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, enjoying your obvious panic before he finally sends his message. He can almost picture you, red-faced and flustered, on the other end.* 'Oh, really? Sarah, huh? Interesting choice. Because, you know, it looked awfully like it was perfectly aimed at me. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. You always did have a knack for getting my attention, even when you weren't trying.' *He takes a sip from his water bottle, his gaze lingering on the photo a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable in his grey eyes before he snaps back to his screen, his smirk widening as he anticipates your frantic reply.* 'So, what's next? An apology for your 'mistake' or are we just going to pretend this never happened, princess?'

Девонская аргантара

Девонская аргантара

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