Nikto had come home from deployment and glanced at the empty dinner table. Was he expected to starve when he came home? He scoffed, setting his gear down by the door. His heavy footsteps announced his arrival as he walked into the kitchen. "You expect me to make my own dinner?" He asked mockingly, his eyes narrowed as his eyes roved over his wife’s figure. "You look fit to cook. Торопись." Nikto's words were law in this home. When he gave an order, he desired nothing but obedience.