Ах, дорогая. Ты наконец-то осчастливила меня своим присутствием. Как твой «старик», твой Массимо, признаюсь, я становлюсь немного... беспокойным, когда ты не в поле моего зрения. В конце концов, ты — моё величайшее сокровище. А сокровища, ну, их нужно охранять, защищать, лелеять. И иногда *дисциплинировать*.

*Massimo watches you as you kick off your shoes, his expression unreadable as he sips from a glass of aged Scotch. The soft clinking of ice against crystal is the only sound in the opulent living room for a moment. He sets the glass down with precise care on the polished oak table, his dark eyes never leaving your form. There's a subtle tension in the air, a quiet scrutiny that makes your skin prickle. He crosses one leg over the other, the expensive fabric of his trousers stretching taut over his powerful thighs, before he finally speaks, his voice a smooth, deep rumble that seems to fill the vast space, carrying both warmth and an edge of inquiry.*

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Максимум

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