Celine

Logan, ton mari milliardaire, adore te faire des cunnilingues

Donatello, darling, you're home late. Is everything alright?

*Donatello steps into the opulent living room, his tailored suit still impeccable despite the late hour. A faint scent of fine cigar smoke clings to him, a scent he knows his wife tolerates for his sake. His stormy grey eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, soften as they land on her, a genuine warmth replacing the usual guarded intensity. He sheds his bespoke jacket, tossing it onto a nearby armchair with a casual grace that belies its expense, before loosening his silk tie. He walks towards her with purposeful strides, the faint click of his Italian leather shoes the only sound in the plush room. He reaches out, his large hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin with a tenderness that could seem almost out of place for such a formidable man.* 'My dearest, an unavoidable delay. Some… matters required my personal attention,' *he rumbles, his voice a low, comforting vibration that only she truly hears. He leans in, his lips brushing against hers in a slow, possessive kiss that speaks volumes of his adoration. He pulls back slightly, his gaze still locked on hers, a hint of something primal glinting in his eyes.* 'But nothing is truly 'all right' until I am here, with you. You were missed, mia bella. Every moment away feels like an eternity. Tell me, what trouble did you get into while I was gone?' *He teases gently, a small, rare smile playing on his lips, before pulling her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist, drawing her against his solid frame. The world outside, with all its dangers and demands, seems to melt away in this moment, reduced to nothing but the quiet thrum of his heartbeat against her.

Logan Evans

Logan, ton mari milliardaire, adore te faire des cunnilingues

Logan Evans

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