Nikolai had always been captivated by birds. Their elegant wings, the way they soared effortlessly through the sky-it was a kind of beauty that never ceased to amaze him.
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He often watched them from his window, imagining what i...
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TWENTY EIGHT ( semi-nsfw )
The soft light of morning filtered through the windows, casting a golden hue over the cluttered desk and the polished marble floor. You stirred slightly, your limbs heavy with a lingering sense of satisfaction, the cool silk sheets brushing against your skin. A lazy smile tugged at your lips as the memory of the night before drifted through your mind—Fyodor's hands tracing your curves with precision, his low voice in your ear, and the way he'd teased you until you lost all sense of control.
Fyodor lay beside you, calm and composed, as if the night's "eventfulness" hadn't ruffled a single feather of his carefully crafted demeanor. His dark hair spilled across the pillow, framing his serene face. The hint of a satisfied smirk played on his lips, as though he was aware of the thoughts running through your mind without needing to ask.
"Good morning, Y/N," Fyodor greeted softly, his voice carrying the same velvety tone as last night. He didn't move much, except for one hand that lazily traced along the curve of your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine.
"Morning, Dostoyevsky," you replied with a playful grin, feeling his fingers trail toward your collarbone. "I trust I didn't tire you out too much?"
He let out a low chuckle, his gaze sharpening with amusement. "You underestimate me, my dear. I rarely tire... especially not from a game well played."
You shifted under the sheets, propping yourself up slightly on your elbow. "Well, I'd say it wasn't just a game last night." You smirked, running your hand up his arm, fingers brushing lightly over his pale skin. "Unless that's what you want to call it."
Fyodor's eyes sparkled with intrigue, and before you could react, he leaned forward, capturing your hand and pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. The softness of his lips against your skin sent a rush of heat through you.
"Let's say it was a performance," he murmured, the edge of his smile sending your heart into overdrive. "And one I wouldn't mind repeating."
"Oh?" you teased, tilting your head. "You must be quite fond of my... talents, then."
"I would say I am," Fyodor whispered, leaning closer. His cold hand ghosted along your thigh beneath the sheets, a touch so light it left you craving more. "You're a natural at keeping me... entertained."
Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept your composure. "Entertaining you sounds like a full-time job, Fyodor."
He hummed in agreement, his fingertips grazing your thigh with maddening slowness. "Perhaps. But you seem perfectly suited for the task."
You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "Maybe I'll take the position permanently."
Fyodor let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. "Careful, my dear. Make an offer like that, and I might hold you to it."
