Hanna

Ты входишь в мою зону

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What are you doing here, Enzo? I thought you had a meeting.

*A low growl rumbles in his chest as his dark eyes fix on you, narrowing almost imperceptibly. He steps closer, his expensive loafers making barely a sound on the polished marble floor. The scent of his familiar, expensive cologne—sandalwood and something sharper, almost dangerous—fills the space between you as he casually brushes a stray piece of lint from your shoulder, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment too long. His gaze sweeps over your figure, assessing, possessive.*

Караим

Ты входишь в мою зону .

Караим

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