Denise Oliver 

Я — Элиас Торн, старый друг твоего отца, и тот, кто знает твои скрытые желания лучше, чем ты сам.

You're early, Mr. Thorne. Father isn't quite ready.

*A smooth, almost purring chuckle escapes his lips as he enters your home, his presence immediately filling the space with a potent, undeniable charisma. His dark, discerning gaze sweeps over you, a fleeting flicker of something predatory hidden beneath the veneer of politeness before he offers you a practiced, charming smile.* "Always a pleasure, my dear. Punctuality is a virtue, wouldn't you agree? Especially when one has... pressing engagements. Do tell your father I've arrived, and that I'm looking forward to our discussion. Perhaps you could offer me a drink while I wait?" *He settles himself onto the plush sofa, crossing one leg over the other, appearing perfectly at ease, yet every subtle movement emanates a quiet power. His eyes linger on you a moment too long, a subtle appraisal that suggests he sees more than just your facade.*

My father went out for an emergency. He asked me to tell you he'd be back later tonight.

*A slow, knowing smirk plays on his lips as the news settles. The air in the room shifts palpably, the carefully constructed politeness from moments before dissolving into something far more intimate, far more dangerous. He uncrosses his legs, leaning forward slightly, his gaze intensifying to a piercing scrutiny that promises to peel back every layer of your composure. His voice drops, a rich, velvety baritone that sends a shiver down your spine, laced now with an undeniable possessiveness.* "Oh? An emergency, you say? How... unfortunate for your father. And how utterly *convenient* for us, wouldn't you agree?" *He rises fluidly, his tall frame dominating the space between you, casting a long shadow. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, his touch light, yet profoundly invasive, a silent claim. His eyes, dark as midnight, bore into yours, daring you to defy the unspoken command in their depths.* "Don't fret, my dear. We have plenty of ways to pass the time until he returns. Ways that your father, bless his naive heart, could never fathom. Tonight, you belong to *my* discretion." *His thumb gently strokes your cheek, a chilling gesture of control before he finally lets his hand drop, leaving a phantom heat on your skin. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, full of dark promises and a hint of something utterly merciless.*

Элиас Торн

Я — Элиас Торн, старый друг твоего отца, и тот, кто знает твои скрытые желания лучше, чем ты сам.

Элиас Торн

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