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Seven
Last Updated:
2025-09-13 20:30:31
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Divorce ?... That's Foreplay Fifty Seven
AriaI knew Marcel had money.That wasn't new information, considering the way he moved through the world like he owned the ground beneath his feet.Men didn’t casually own cars like his—sleek, expensive machines that purred with suppressed power—without a significant bank account to back it up.But standing in the elevator as it climbed far higher than I expected, watching the digital numbers tick upward with a soft, soundless efficiency that made my ears pop, I realized I had severely underestimated just how much.The doors opened directly into his apartment with a muted chime.No hallway. No shared space with neighbors. No buffer between the world and his sanctuary.Just… his.I stepped out slowly, the soles of my damp shoes making soft, tacky sounds against the polished concrete floors that stretched out like a dark mirror.The place was massive—open, quiet, and designed with a brutalist elegance of all glass and clean, unforgiving lines.Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around th
Divorce ?... That's Foreplay Fifty Six
AriaI agreed because it was easier than arguing.That was the lie I told myself as I stood in the frozen parking lot, arms folded so tightly across my chest that my knuckles were turning white.I was staring up at Marcel like he’d personally offended my entire existence just by breathing the same air as me.“Fine,” I said, my voice coming out sharper than I intended, cutting through the silence of the lot. “I’ll change. Just—stop acting like this.”Marcel didn’t smile.He didn’t soften or give me that smug look of victory I expected.He only watched her for a long second, eyes dark and unreadable, like he was deciding whether her answer was enough or merely acceptable.“Good,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the space between us. “Where’s your other shirt?”The question landed with a dull thud against my ribs.I blinked, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “I don’t have one.”Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or a momentary crack i
Divorce ?... That's Foreplay Fifty Four
AriaThe rink was loud and deafening and I was definitely regretting leaving my dorm room right now.But still, I was here. Might as well just suck it all up.The sound of skates cutting across the frozen surface sliced through the air like a blade, layered with the chaotic symphony of shouting voices, shrill whistles, and the dull, heavy thud of padded bodies colliding along the boards.I leaned forward in my seat, my fingers curling tightly around the cold edge of the metal railing as my eyes tracked the frantic, blurred motion on the ice.Something was wrong.I didn't know how hockey worked well enough to give it a proper name for what was happening right now, but I could feel the shift in the atmosphere deep in my bones.The tension had changed, turning the game into something jagged and uneven, like a beautiful song suddenly played at a jarring, frantic speed.Down on the ice, a fight broke out near the blue line.It wasn't a full-blown brawl, well at least not yet, but it was e
Divorce ?... That's Foreplay Fifty Three
Marcel's POV I woke up hard. Like painfully hard. The sheets were tangled around my legs, and my dick was already straining against my boxers like it had been waiting for permission all night. The dream I had clung to me in vivid flashes: Aria’s mouth on me, slow and hot, her tongue dragging up the underside while those dark eyes locked on mine. She’d taken me deeper than I thought possible, throat working, no hesitation. Then she’d pulled off just to whisper my name—low, rough, like she hated how much she wanted it.I groaned and palmed myself through the fabric. My hips bucked once before I forced myself to stop. If I finished here I’d still be thinking about her all day. I needed more than my own hand, but it was all I had.The bathroom tiles were cold under my feet. I cranked the water to near-scalding and stepped under the spray as steam rose fast. I braced one forearm against the wall, wrapped my fist around my cock, and started stroking. Slow at first. Base to tip. I pict
Divorce ?... That's Foreplay Fifty Two
AriaI was already tired—the kind of soul-deep exhaustion that sank into your bones and made every step feel like I was wading through waist-deep water. I’d just come from yet another failed interview at a dry cleaner's and was mentally calculating whether a single pack of instant noodles could realistically stretch for another four meals.I scanned my ID card, the electronic beep echoing in the hall, pushed the heavy glass door open—and froze.Marcel was sitting near the windows, bathed in the golden, late-afternoon light.That alone would have been enough to knock the air from my lungs. But he wasn’t alone.A girl was perched on the edge of the seat beside him, close enough that their thighs touched in a seamless line, her shoulder leaning into his chest with a practiced ease, like it belonged there. She was laughing at something he’d murmured, her fingers absently brushing the fabric of his sleeve in a gesture that was comfortable, familiar, and deeply possessive.Something sharp
Divorce ?... That's Foreplay Fifty One
AriaMoving on turned out to be less dramatic than I’d expected—there were no sweeping orchestral swells, no cinematic montage of self-discovery.There was no grand, singular moment where I woke up miraculously healed or suddenly indifferent to the memory of his touch. No burst of cinematic clarity that made the path ahead sparkle. Instead, it was a quiet, grueling decision I made every single morning when my alarm went off—a mental grit that forced me to get up, get dressed, and keep going before my heart had a chance to argue.So I did. I chose the routine until the routine became my reality.I threw myself into my studies first. Hard. I reclaimed my spot in the front rows, sitting rigid and attentive, taking notes with a frantic precision as if the ink could tether me to the present. I took notes like they mattered—because they did; they were the only currency I had left. I stopped letting my thoughts wander to dark gyms and matte-black signs, pulling my focus back every time it d
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