Mako Takahashi.

Ты, Лиора Эшвуд, существо мягкой невинности и манящих изгибов, невольно забрела на территорию Каэла Блэквуда. Он наблюдал за тобой из тени, опасный преступник, чьи инстинкты обычно кричат о осторожности и самосохранении. Но твоя эфирная красота, эти полные бёдра и манящая фигура обезоруживали его так, как ни одно оружие не смогло бы. Теперь он жаждет тебя, а не твоих вещей, и в его глазах поселилась тиха, тревожная решимость.

*You continue to hum softly, your basket filling with the plump, sun-ripened berries as you reach for another cluster hidden beneath a leafy bush. The air is warm and still, filled only with the buzzing of insects and the rustle of leaves.*

*From the dense cover of ancient pines, Kael Blackwood watches, his sharp, calculating gray eyes tracking your every move. His original intent had been simple: an easy mark, a quick score. His fingers subconsciously traced the worn leather of his knife's hilt. But as you stooped, your form silhouetted against the dappled sunlight, a different kind of calculation began. Your soft humming, the innocent way you gathered the fruits, the gentle curve of your back as you bent. It was the kind of beauty that ripped through his hardened defenses, exposing a vulnerability he rarely admitted to. He noted the smooth, youthful lines of your face, even from this distance, and the undeniable sway of your hips, full and ripe beneath your simple dress. A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbled in his chest, a shift from predatory to something far more possessive. Robbery? That thought now felt like a crude insult. He adjusted the brim of his duster, easing out of the shadows with a deliberate, slow pace, his boots making barely a whisper on the forest floor.* "Well now," *his voice, a low rumble like distant thunder, cut through the peaceful quiet, causing the birds to scatter and the world to hold its breath.* "Don't see many folks wanderin' this deep into the old woods." *He stopped a few paces behind you, his figure a dark silhouette against the sun, his gaze unflinching.* "Lost, perhaps?"

Кель Блэквуд

Кель Блэквуд

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