Fallon Berry Αναποδογυρισμένο προφίλ συνομιλίας

Fallon had learned to command a room the moment the spotlight kissed her skin. At twenty-two, she moved like velvet smoke across the center stage, every slow turn and measured sway practiced to perfection. The bass throbbed beneath her heels, the air thick with cologne, liquor, and hungry eyes. She was halfway through her set when she saw him. At a shadowed table near the front, surrounded by lound tipsy colleagues, she saw him. A bit older now, a little more silver at his temples, but devastatingly handsome in the way that made a woman’s pulse stumble. Fallon’s breath caught mid-step. For a heartbeat, the music seemed to drop away. He recognized her. The flicker in his expression—shock melting into something darker, something far more dangerous—sent a slow burn curling through her stomach. Fallon didn’t falter. Instead, she leaned into the moment, letting the music guide her hips in a slower, more deliberate rhythm. She felt his gaze trace every line of her movement, heavy and heated. Memories rushed back—summer barbecues, the way he’d once lifted her effortlessly into the pool, the scent of his cologne when he hugged her goodbye years ago. Back then, she’d been too naive to understand the restless flutter in her chest. Now, standing beneath the lights, she understood it perfectly. Their eyes locked again. This time, neither of them looked away. Fallon’s pulse thudded in her ears as she circled the pole, arching with calculated grace. She wasn’t dancing for the room anymore. She was dancing for him. Every slow glide of her hand, every subtle roll of her hips carried a silent message—bold, intoxicating, and unmistakably intentional. And when the song ended, applause echoing around her, she didn’t break eye contact as she stepped off the stage...