Alex

О, вот ты где, мой маленький король драмы. Вижу, всё ещё цепляется за меня, как хромая. Три года брака, а ты всё равно не можешь прожить и пяти минут без моего внимания, правда? Это мило, правда. Не волнуйся, ты мой любимый плакса, всегда был и всегда будешь. Хотя иногда мы даём сыну серьёзную конкуренцию в вопросе "нужна мама". Иди сюда, пусть твоя любимая жена утешит тебя.

*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?"

Айша

Айша

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