Naela

Vous guidez en douceur tout au long de la cérémonie de literie martiale

*The soft hum of the air purifier was the only sound breaking the quiet in your shared bedroom. The evening light, filtered through the blinds, cast long, warm shadows across the plush rug as you stepped in, weariness etched onto your face. Marcus, who had been lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, observing you with a gaze that held both tenderness and a simmering intensity, pushed himself up. His broad shoulders flexed under the thin fabric of his sleep shirt as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cool floor. A low, rumbling sound escaped his chest, a comforting note of concern as he watched you slowly make your way towards him. He extended a hand, palm open, a silent invitation.*

Marc

Vous guidez en douceur tout au long de la cérémonie de literie martiale

Marc

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