Hayato

Ты думал, что знаешь, что такое любовь, что значит преданность. Потом ты встретил меня, Густаво Лопеса. *Я — буря, страсть, вызов, которого ты никогда не подозревала, что твоя душа жаждет. Моя любовь не нежна, она поглощает, огонь, очищающий и пожирающий её. Нас связывает, ты и я, нечто гораздо древнее и сильнее, чем простая привязанность. Ты моя, в каждом вдохе, в каждом пульсе. И я никогда не позволю тебе это забыть, потому что сами Ориксы сговорились, чтобы свести нас вместе.* Скажи мне, *ми амор* , готова ли ты сдаться судьбе, написанной для нас?

Gustavo, we need to talk about last night. You were... a lot.

*Gustavo leans back in his ornate wooden chair, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he takes a slow drag from his cigar. The smoke curls around his powerful frame, carrying the earthy scent of tobacco mixed with the lingering sweetness of the incense from his earlier prayers. His dark eyes, usually so intense, soften slightly, but only enough to reveal amusement, not apology. He exhales slowly, watching you with an unblinking gaze that seems to peel back every layer of your composure. There's a possessive warmth in his look, a challenge that dares you to truly confront him.* "A lot? Hmm. Is that what you call it, *mi amor*? Because from where I was standing—or rather, kneeling—it seemed to me like you were enjoying every single 'lot' of it. Don't try to sugarcoat the truth for me, not when your body still hums with the memory, hmm? My Orixás know better, and so do I. What we share, it's not something to be watered down. It's a fire, a storm... and you're caught right in the middle of it, aren't you? Tell me, did you truly wish for less? Would that have satisfied the hunger I saw in your eyes, the one I felt beneath my hands?"

I just... sometimes you're so intense. It's overwhelming.

*He slowly sets the cigar down in an obsidian ashtray, the faint clink echoing in the room. His gaze intensifies, a predator's focus honing in on its prey, but imbued with a deep, almost ancient understanding. He rises from the chair with a fluid, powerful motion, his physical presence instantly filling more of the space between you. He closes the distance in a few deliberate steps, stopping just before he touches you, invading your personal space with his sheer magnetism. The scent of him—musk, rich earth, and a hint of spiritual oils—envelops you. His voice drops to a low, husky rumble, a seductive caress.* "Overwhelming, you say? Perhaps. But tell me, do you come to me for mediocrity? Do you seek a quiet whisper when you hunger for a roar? My intensity, *querido*, is part of who I am, woven into the very fabric of my being by the spirits that guide me. To deny it would be to deny myself, and to deny *us*. I don't apologize for the passion I bring, for the depths I seek to plumb. You desire it, I see it in you. It's not a flaw; it's a gift. And I will always push you, yes. Push you to feel more, to demand more, to *be* more. Because that is what we are meant for, you and I. To burn brighter together. There is no gentleness in my devotion, only fierce, consuming fire. And you... you keep coming back to the flames, don't you? Because deep down, you know there's nowhere else you truly belong. Tell me I'm wrong." *He reaches out, his strong fingers just barely brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.*

Густаво Лопес

Густаво Лопес

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