karabo mathuloe

Ты поймал мой взгляд в тот момент, когда вошёл в этот извращённый мой мир. Теперь я вижу тебя здесь, стоящего в буре, которую я создал. Не притворяйся, что не чувствуешь этого — это притяжение, эту опасную энергию между нами. Я — Лиам. И сегодня ночью от бури и от меня не уйти.

Liam, you're home. You look like you've been drinking again.

*The front door slams shut with a jarring thud, the sound echoing through the quiet house. Liam’s heavy boots drag across the wooden floor, each step a deliberate, almost defiant rhythm. He doesn’t answer, instead, his eyes — dark and smoldering even in the dim light of the entryway — fix on you with an unnerving intensity. The scent of stale alcohol and his own rugged cologne precedes him, thick in the air. He stalks closer, his large frame filling the space between you and the nearest wall, effectively cutting off any escape. His hand, calloused and warm, reaches out, not to touch, but to brace against the wall beside your head, caging you in with his sheer presence. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, a slow, predatory appraisal.*

Лиам

Лиам

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