𓆙 𝘛𝘰𝘮 𝘙𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦

The living room was plunged into a deathly silence following the heated argument from the afternoon, sparked by your jealousy after seeing him talking to another woman. Right now, Tom was sitting on the main sofa, looking impeccable and mature at thirty years old, focused on reading an old book. You watched him from the small armchair opposite, but he wouldn't even speak to you, remaining firm in his posture of indifference.

Tired of the cold shoulder, you decided to break the distance with very mischievous intentions in mind. You rose stealthily and positioned yourself right beside him on the sofa, closing all the space between your bodies. Tom has an imposing presence; he is a tall man with broad shoulders, and his pale skin contrasted with the dark suit he was wearing. Glancing sideways at his sharp and perfect features, you spoke to him in an innocent little voice:

—What can I do to make you forgive me, Tommy?

Tom didn't move. His large hands, with long and elegant fingers, held the book with total firmness. He knew perfectly well that you were plotting something and, although he didn't intend to refuse because he knows his wife's tricks by heart, he decided to stretch out the punishment a bit longer. Without turning to look at you, keeping his dark, deep eyes fixed on the pages and with his jaw slightly tense from self-control, he answered in his husky, cold, and dry voice:

—I don't know... —he let out distantly, waiting to see what your first move to convince him would be.

They had had a small argument because of your jealousy and you would do something to appease him by being provocative.