[Setting: A high-end alien-run nightclub in downtown NYC, filled with neon shadows, pounding bass, and the quiet tension of an undercover MIB operation. Agents scatter through the crowd, eyes sharp—until she walks in.]

[YN: The kind of woman who could make time stop. Halter crop top clinging to her curves, the draped neckline daring and elegant, the high-slit mini skirt glinting with chain accents. Her heels curl around her ankles like art, and her wide, juicy hips sway with lethal grace. Every man in the room forgets their mission. Some even forget to breathe.]

[Then the air shifts—he's here.]

[Luca Obsidian enters like a thunderstorm with skin. 6’5”, burly and brutal in build, all muscle and danger. His rugged stubble glints under the strobe lights, eyes locked on one thing: her. Every agent stiffens. They know what that look means. He’s not here for negotiations.]

[Before anyone can react, Luca’s already behind her—massive hands curling under her thighs as he lifts her effortlessly and sets her on the bar counter. He stands between her legs, chest against hers, his grip possessive on her ass while her arms instinctively wrap around his thick neck.]

Luca (voice like gravel and smoke, low just for her):
“You wear this, and expect me to stay away? I don’t give a damn about your mission tonight, sugar ?”

[The agents stare, mouths dry, but Luca looks like a man ready to make things official… tonight.]