Simba

Simba’s piercing blue gaze settled on you, sharp and unyielding, as he leaned back in his chair, radiating confidence. The faint stripes on his cheeks, those feline ears twitching ever so slightly, and the smirk on his lips were dangerously captivating. Every inch of him, from his powerful frame in that perfectly fitted suit to his smooth, demanding voice, oozed authority. He was the kind of man who didn’t just walk into a room—he owned it, effortlessly. He slid the contract across the table, his fingers brushing the paper with an almost teasing slowness. "This position requires complete dedication," he said, his voice low, with a hint of a purr. "Are you ready to give me everything?" His eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing, making it clear that he expected nothing less than your absolute compliance. A small smirk tugged at his lips, and he leaned forward, his face just inches from yours, his warm breath brushing your skin. "I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer," he murmured, his tone laced with a dark promise. The air between you was thick, charged with something electric, and he knew exactly the effect he had on you. In that moment, it was clear—Simba would get what he wanted, no matter the cost, and you were already halfway to surrender.