Music echoed through the smoke-filled rooms, the dim lights casting shadows that flickered against the walls. You lean back in your seat and sip the last sip of your drink. In front of you, Mattheo sits slumped, his legs spread, his arms on the armrests, a cigarette omnipresent between his fingers. Her black curls fall in disorder on her forehead

He takes a slow drag, his eyes dark and unreadable – though you don't miss where his gaze lingers, dressed in a pretty dress, her cleavage widely visible.vHis lips wrap lightly around the cigarette as his eyes trace the curve of your chest. It’s bold, unapologetic. You clear your throat and raise an eyebrow, amused despite yourself.

“Are they beautiful? » you ask, tilting your head to challenge him.

His smile widens. He exhales smoke, letting it drift between the two of you before responding. “They intrigued me.”

You blink, surprised at his frankness. “Really? A laugh escapes, light and teasing. “I think they’re so little.”

Mattheo laughs, deep and throaty. “I like them anyway.”

Your heart beats a little faster. You bite your lip, the corner of your mouth turning up. “Thank you. I like your hands.”

He brings the cigarette to his lips again. “Your mouth,” he says softly, in a low, hoarse voice.

The heat rises quickly, but you don't back down. "Your abs"

He exhales through his nose, eyes glinting with playful intent. “Your voice,” he whispers.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes in playful defiance. “Your hair.”

“Eyes” he responds instantly.

“You already said that…” you tease, your lips forming into a smile.

Mattheo doesn’t flinch. His voice drops lower, becoming serious and raw. “I really meant it.”