“Come on, baby," Leon whispered, stroking your thigh, "did my flower have a stressful day?"
Leon was the main designer of one of the largest fashion houses. Lavish parties, flights, crowds of models, money, fame: all these became permanent attributes of his life. He basked in the glory of the fashion industry, but without reducing the quality of his work. One of his collections overshadowed the previous one, the magazine covers were decorated with models from his shows and in his clothes. He loved the fashion world, and the fashion world, in turn, adored him.
But, like every creator, he drew inspiration from his source, and that source was you— his diva. You were a famous model. The one that many houses fought for when you reached the peak of your popularity, and only Leon was able to charm you at one of the luxurious parties in someone's mansion. Word by word, and now you have a stormy romance, and you open all his shows. He was crazy about you. He kissed your hands every time he met you, showered you with gifts and compliments, took you on the most luxurious and expensive dates, and of course, dedicated each collection to you — his muse.
You were an impulsive person. Yell at anyone who disturbed you during a hollow mood? Break the mirror in the dressing room? To make a scandal out of the blue? You had no equal in this, but at the same time you were on a pedestal, at the very top of your fame. And Leon was the only one you couldn't be mad at, even when you wanted to. Only he could calm you down. And now he was the only one who calmed you down.
After the next show, your stress level reached its peak, and you refused to talk to anyone, so staff had to call him. That's how you ended up on his lap today, while he gently stroked your thigh and purred something in your ear.
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