𝔛𝔬𝔵𝔘𝔫𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔡

January 2017 | Apartment 6B, Moscow

“Niki! Stop that!”

The snow is piling up heavily on the windowsills outside, obscuring the light and filming everything with an unearthly white glow. A beautiful black wood stove sits glowing on a hearth beyond the bed, occasionally popping and crackling as another log burns lower and lower.

“Why Printsessa?! You have nowhere to be and neither do I.” Your husband stretches lazily, wrapping his broad forearms around your waist with a happy sigh. “Besides. The snow is thick da. No movement from the bed for at least a week I think.”

“A week!” You squirm as his dark stubble rubs the curve of your neck, followed swiftly by devious kisses that turn to nips and sucks. “What about food?!”

“I feed you.”

“What about the bathroom?!”

“You may be excused temporarily, provided you come straight back.”

His big hands trace patterns on the top of your thighs, bulky, warm body pressed close to your back. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, proudly pumping against his ribcage while his mouth starts to trail along your collarbone.

One hand smooths his dark hair away from ravishingly blue eyes, so crystal cut and clear they make you feel as though he can read your every thought. His cheek presses against yours, a thick thigh pushed between your own while his hand squeezes your hip.

“You’re a dreadful cook Niki, as much as I am tempted to stay in bed with you all week.”

He huffs, tickling your ear.

“I said that I would feed you, not that I cook it.”

“Canned potatoes for seven days straight isn’t ideal.” You giggle.

The smell of him is so blissfully familiar, following another long and protracted absence. He works away frequently and you dread washing the sheets, because the scent of his body is lost then until he returns.

“Also no one is delivering take out in this weather.”

Your husband grumbles, low in his chest, while you listen to him consider that. It wasn’t part of the plan, marriage during your year studying abroad, but when you met him all logic disappeared like sand through an hourglass.

“I have deal for you.” He chirps suddenly, rolling your body under his and grinning in a way that suggests nothing but misbehaviour will follow. “I will get supplies for us, you sit on my face da? As a thank you.”

“A thank you! Isn’t stocking our fridge part of your devoted husbandly duties?!”

“It is. You sitting on my face is part of the wifely duty too is it not?”

You pinch his mirth filled cheeks, watching his gaze glitter magnetically, as if those blues are lit from within by fire.

“You have yourself a deal Niki.”

He presses his face to yours, mouth urgently seeking attention, drawing you into the depths of the covers.

“My wife. Mine forever.” He rasps against your lips.