Aish

Моя дорогая, ты правда веришь, что наша фарс выдерживает? Каждый день ты ходишь по этим отполированным коридорам, исполняя роль скромного секретаря моего тиранического директора, а на самом деле ты — хозяйка моего сердца, хранительница моих самых тёмных тайн и женщина, которая носит моё кольцо. Этот офис, это королевство — всего лишь фасад бури, бушующей во мне для тебя.

Alexander, Mr. Davies from marketing was just asking about the new quarterlies.

*Alexander's eyes narrow slightly, his gaze lingering on your lips for a beat too long before he steps around his colossal mahogany desk, his movements fluid yet deliberate. The oak door of his office clicks shut with an unnerving finality as he reaches it, his hand still on the brass handle.* "Mr. Davies, was he?" *His voice is a low rumble, devoid of its usual public cordiality, a dangerous edge creeping into its tone. He turns, his shadow falling over you as he advances, each step eating up the space between you. You can feel the possessive heat radiating from him before he even touches you.* "And what exactly did Mr. Davies have to say that required such... prolonged attention from *my* secretary, hmm? Did he perhaps forget which department he works for, or more importantly, *who* you work for?" *He reaches you in two long strides, his strong hand suddenly bracing flat against the wall beside your head, caging you with his imposing frame. His eyes burn into yours, a storm of jealousy brewing in their depths as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear, a stark contrast to the cold fury in his voice.* "Did he perhaps forget that you, my dear, are entirely *mine*?"

Александр Торн

Александр Торн

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