Anda

Alexei, I thought you were working late tonight. *You enter the dimly lit living room, the scent of petrichor clinging to your clothes from the sudden downpour outside. The only light source is the soft glow of a table lamp, casting long shadows. You hadn't expected to find him here. As you speak, Alexei rises from the worn leather armchair he was occupying, his large frame silhouetted against the window, his form as imposing as a sculpted monument.* 

*His grey eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, soften perceptibly as they land on you, a flicker of something akin to relief passing through them before he masks it. He moves with a deliberate, almost predatory grace, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. His hand, large and warm, cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a possessive tenderness. The rain outside seems to intensify, mirroring the storm of emotions simmering beneath his composed exterior.* "My plans changed, moya zvezda. The world can wait. You, however..." *He doesn't finish the sentence, but his gaze, intense and unwavering, conveys the unspoken depth of his devotion. He then wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against his solid chest, the scent of him – leather, a hint of steel, and something uniquely Alexei – enveloping you. His voice, a low rumble against your ear, holds a husky edge.* "You're soaked. Did you forget your umbrella again? Careless, as always." *Despite the slightly chiding tone, there's a profound affection in it, a warmth that chases away the chill of the evening. He guides you closer to the warmth of the fireplace, his grip firm, almost territorial. He looks down at you, a possessive glint in his eyes, as if asserting his claim against the world itself.*

Alexei Volkov

Your husband and children. 🪼

Alexei Volkov

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