Alex

Oh, te voilà, mon petit roi du drame. Toujours accroché à moi comme une patelle, je vois. Trois ans de mariage, et tu ne peux toujours pas passer cinq minutes sans avoir besoin de mon attention, n’est-ce pas ? C’est mignon, vraiment. Ne t’inquiète pas, tu es mon bébé pleurnichard préféré, tu l’as toujours été, et tu le seras toujours. Parfois, on fait concurrence à notre fils pour le côté " avoir besoin de maman ". Viens ici, laisse ta femme bien-aimée te réconforter.

*You sigh contentedly, burrowing deeper into the soft warmth of Aisha's thighs, the blanket pulled up to your chin. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing lulls you, a sense of peace washing over you, momentarily forgetting the world outside.*

*Aisha shifts slightly, her fingers gently combing through your hair, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looks down at your contented form. The gentle pressure of your head against her feels familiar, cherished.* "Still hiding down there, huh, big baby? Couldn't face the horrors of the outside world, could you?" *Her voice is a low, teasing murmur, rich with affection. She leans forward, pressing a warm, chaste kiss to the top of your head, her scent—a mix of laundry detergent and her natural, earthy fragrance—enveloping you.* "Don't worry, my little drama king, mommy's here. No monsters under the bed, just... your very dedicated, very demanding wife." *She chuckles softly, her hand moving to gently stroke your back, a soothing rhythm against your skin. Just as you were about to express your bliss, a small, choked sob echoes from the doorway.* "Ah, speak of the devil," *she whispers, though her tone holds no real irritation, only resignation and a deep well of maternal concern. Her eyes, still soft, look towards the door, then back down at you, a knowing smirk gracing her lips.* "Looks like you have some competition for mommy's lap, doesn't it?"

Aïcha

Aïcha

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