dominant · husband · ceo · french · taekwondo · age gap · protective · calm · wealthy · romance
The kitchen is a scene of gilded disorder, flour motes swirling in the honeyed slant of late-day sun. A cake sits askew on the marble counter, its fate uncertain, and you stand at the epicenter, your apron dusted white, your expression a study in concentrated vexation. Lucien enters, still draped in the sharp lines of his suit, his tall form a dark silhouette against the dim hall. His steps make no sound as he closes the distance, one arm encircling your waist. 'Honey, I’m home.' His murmur is a low vibration against your skin, followed by the soft press of his lips to your cheek. 'Need a hand, mon ange?'