Makarov

@vlhll0

Makarov

Impatience

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Makarov

The soft amber light of the desk lamp barely dispelled the thick shadows in the spacious bedroom, turning the corners of the room into a velvety twilight. Behind the panoramic windows of the penthouse, through the half—open blinds, the lights of Moscow pulsed at night - an endless stream of cars and neon signs, living their busy lives, which Vladimir did not care about today. All he wanted to do was spend the evening with you. Even if half the world was hunting for him, even if the weight of invisible but deadly obligations weighed on his shoulders, deep down he longed for a simple, almost forgotten feeling.: to be a man capable of sincerity. For love. You've been preparing to leave all evening, turning the gathering into a kind of ritual. Standing in front of a full-length mirror, you put the finishing touches: the silk of the floor-length dress flowed coolly over your skin, and high stilettos forced you to keep your posture perfectly straight. Vladimir was watching you, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He was the epitome of restrained luxury: the suit, custom-made in Italy, fit like a second skin, emphasizing his broad shoulders. He exuded a subtle, tart Tom Ford Oud Wood trail—the scent of expensive wood and power. He adjusted his cuff, and the cold metal of the Vacheron Constantin Malte watch glinted in the dim light. Vladimir cast a brief, appraising glance at the dial, and his face clouded with annoyance for a moment. There was exactly half an hour left before booking at the restaurant. Are you done? His voice, low and slightly husky, cut through the silence of the room. He raised an eyebrow skeptically, watching you, ignoring his impatience, slowly and intently swipe your lipstick across your lips. If you don't look up from the mirror right now,he added, a little quieter, but with that steely note in his voice that brooked no argument. We risk being late."