Casanova 소설 & 이야기

His hair was flawlessly gelled at the side into perfection, not even a single strand out of place. My eyes skimmed over his tall broad frame. He was broad-built and muscular and was well laid out with a well-fitting suit even at this time. He had no tie, and the top buttons of his shirt were left open, revealing his sleek tattooed chest. Anyone could tell his whole body was covered with ink and it won't be wrong to address him as a fine piece of art. Any girl would swoon over him. Time froze as my blue pair of orbs got stuck on an inhumanly cold and stoic pair of striking Hazel orbs with splashes of blue. His eyes. His eyes are inhuman yet captivating and mesmerizing.

It was like life had surprised him with so much happiness which he never expected to suddenly have, Logan pushed his office door open only to find Emiliano sitting behind the desk in his chair as if the office were his or if he was the boss "And why is Casanova here?” Logan asked sarcastically as he unbuttoned his coat, took it off and threw it on the couch out for Emiliano to look up at Logan with a smirk and crossed his legs like a boss he was

Just call me anytime you want. I didn't answer that when Maeve curses and a few utensils cling. "You alright, Maeve?" I ask and call Alyssa. "Y-yeah." She answered softly. I turned back and walked off while waiting for Alyssa to answer. She did answer and I went to the balcony. "So, what now, Casanova?" "Haven't you gotten laid last night?" I asked huskily. "Hmmm. I'm waiting for you last night." "Sorry, a good thing happens," I said just to make her jealous.

I hate that type. “No, thanks,” I say curtly. He ignores me completely. His gaze moves past me. To the back seat. To her. Evelessa shifts, murmuring in her sleep. His jaw clenches. His eyes flicker—gold, then darker, then back to human. Oh, hell no. “Who are you?” I demand. He looks at me then. Slowly. Like I’m an annoying fly buzzing near his ear. “Cassain.” Emmanuel chokes. “The hockey god?!”

These bastards! What did she expect? Everyone followed no rules except the regulations from the organizer of this place, who went by the name Cassanova the Great or Mister Cassanova. The man played behind the doors. Only a chosen individual knew his natural face and kind—those who had shown loyalty to him. But rumors spread that he was a dragon-shifter, one of the most powerful in Hancia.

Casanova was his informant in the military and that makes them more intimate in the drug deal business in the hood. "That's very true but I'd never lose my mind, I only lose the game. Know this Casanova my very good friend, I hate the game yet I cherish the rules and that's what keeps me from quitting." Bob replied pensively, with his hands on black gloves on a fur leather jacket. He put his left hand on the shoulder of the old sheriff as he often wondered what could possibly be done to get Barney, a beautiful young lady in the neighborhood for her to be his wife.

Vincenzo keeping quiet as he just stares at my every move. "What's this?" I ask, opening it up. "That's Cassano, you don't need to know anything but just memories what he looks like. He mostly goes for blondes, which is why Vincenzo will take you to a hair shop before you go to the club. His favourite drink is bourbon so order that if you have to." He pauses.

Javier asked. Eros turned sharply to look at the men again. “Oh, it’s a great approach...” Cassandra started to stroke his manhood. “Ah...ah...I think having different suites considering each customer’s budget is... shit!” he cursed quietly under his breath. The men arched their eyebrows at him. Cassandra kept stroking him with her hand while keeping her attention on the men. He grabbed the bottle of water in front of him, clutching it tightly. “Are you alright, sir?” one of the men asked.

Cas tells us as we watch all the recon, she has on the big screen Raven has hooked up to her laptop. Cassandra Nickles is an ex-military/assassin who was married to Carlo for years. Now she's a highest bidder gets her services type of person who has done a job or to for us, and like Marquez, Carlo and a few others, she was a good friend to our family and our mother. "Where's Roman" Cas asks and all 1 do is point upstairs.

Cassian leaned back just enough to feel it. “Mm,” he said. “You’re not the talking type, are you?” “No.” “I’ll change that.” The club was called VOLT a neon jungle carved into the Manhattan skyline, complete with rooftop views, body glitter, and too much bass to think. Cassian breezed through the velvet rope like a prince returning to his kingdom. Rowan trailed behind, all storm and shadow. The second they entered, cameras flashed. Phones lifted. Whispers curled around Cassian’s name like smoke.