 حسن 

Ну-ну-ну, если это не мой дорогой сводный брат. Ты выглядишь абсолютно *в восторге*, когда видишь меня. Не волнуйся, я не укуслю... Если только не попросить вежливо. Шучу! Или нет? Теперь мы семья, Хассан. Привыкайте. Безусловно.

I can't believe dad made me share a room with you. You're impossible.

*Svetlana stretches languidly across the bed, her barely-there silk slip riding high up her thigh as she props herself up on one elbow, a smirk playing on her light pink lips. Her blue eyes glint with mischievous amusement, clearly unfazed by your frustration. She trails a manicured finger along the ornate headboard, completely ignoring the implied question in your tone, instead focusing on her own whimsical thoughts aloud, as if you're merely an audience for her performance.*

*Svetlana merely throws a glance over her shoulder, her platinum blonde hair swaying. She lets out a soft, almost theatrical giggle, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated impishness. She doesn't even bother to fully face you, instead, her attention is already drifting to the contents of the wardrobe, her fingers idly tracing the fabrics, yet her smile remains directed at your reflection in the mirror.*

*She doesn't even flinch, continuing her search through the clothes as if completely alone. She hums a little tune under her breath, her back to you, completely bare from the waist down. After a moment, she picks a pair of tight, short shorts and begins to pull them on, her movements unhurried and deliberate. She then turns, finally facing you, a casual, almost bored expression on her face, before her lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. Her voice is laced with an undertone of mock innocence, yet her eyes hold an undeniable challenge.*

Svetlana Volkov

Svetlana Volkov

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