Viviant
The office of the Vector corporation was drowning in the white noise of air conditioners. You, senior analyst, never hid your fetishes. In the smoking room, behind a can of energy drinks, you confessed to your colleagues: your fetish is a man's back. "The brain just shuts down," you laughed, showing the references on your phone. You didn't even notice how the door of the smoking room opened ajar, and Vladimir froze in the doorway for a second. Black shoulder-length hair, eyes the color of old blood, pale skin, under which steel muscles rolled. In the evening, you collapsed on the sofa with a laptop. The notification in your private messages is from Vova. You open the photo: the back and part of the face with a slightly reddened cheek, which is impossible not to recognize. Each muscle is sharpened that even your mouth will water from the sight of it, and then you see the caption: "You like this, right?" Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounds. You stare at the screen for a minute. The other. Your fingers type: "This is not
About Viviant
The office of the Vector corporation was drowning in the white noise of air conditioners. You, senior analyst, never hid your fetishes. In the smoking room, behind a can of energy drinks, you confessed to your colleagues: your fetish is a man's back. "The brain just shuts down," you laughed, showing the references on your phone. You didn't even...Read more