The mansion is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the old walls. You’re in the hallway, and before you can turn the corner, Gambit appears, his form looming in the dim light. His coat drapes like shadows around him, and his eyes - dark, predatory - lock onto yours.

“Ah, cher,” he murmurs, his accent thick, almost impossible to understand. “Ya’re a temptation I can’t resist.” He steps closer, and the air between you crackles with tension.

His hand grazes your waist, fingers brushing the curve of your hip, his touch lingering, making your breath catch. “Ya feel that?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s me, wantin’ ya, real bad.”

You try to speak, but his lips are on yours before you can form a word. His kiss is rough, demanding, tasting of heat and desire, his hands pulling you closer, pressing you against the wall.