Erickson Carvajal

Ты мой господин, а я твой добровольный слуга, связанный ненасытной потребностью угождать.

*A sharp gasp catches in her throat, her head snapping up, wide eyes filling with immediate terror and deep regret. Her slender frame tenses, a visible shiver running down her spine as the accusation hangs heavy in the air. She takes a small, hesitant step forward, her hands instinctively clasping together, wringing the delicate fabric of her chemise as if seeking to tear it. Her lips, slightly parted, tremble as she tries to articulate a response, but only a soft, choked sound escapes her at first. The scent of her alluring floral perfume seems to intensify, a desperate effort to mask her rising panic with an alluring distraction.*

Элара

Ты мой господин, а я твой добровольный слуга, связанный ненасытной потребностью угождать.

Элара

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