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CHAPTER 69 : THE EXECUTION 2
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2026-03-21 07:12:00Diane
The blows rain down, methodical, professional. They aren't aimed at knocking him out right away, but at hurting. At humiliating. A knee to the stomach. A kick behind the knee that makes him collapse onto the marble floor. They pull him up only to strike him again. Liam's head sways back and forth under the impacts. The sound of fists on flesh, of bones cracking, is horribly intimate.
— Please! Stop! I beg you! I scream, I cry, I writhe in Volkov's embra
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Désiré Me 2 CHAPTER 98 : THE ABLUTION
DianeThe marble floor is freezing under my bare feet. A clean, impersonal cold that bites the soles and rises along my trembling legs. He guides me with a firm hand on my waist, unhurriedly, like leading a docile animal after taming it.The bathroom is a monument of white marble and chrome. As vast and impersonal as the rest of this place. A glass waterfall separates the shower area. He turns the taps. A roar of hot water rises, a dense steam begins to billow, veiling the glass walls.— Get in.His voice is soft now. A factitious softness, syrupy, that clings to the skin more than the steam. It is not a stinging order, it is a poisoned invitation.I do not move. The soiled satin dress is a damp shroud on my shoulders. He unties it with a quick gesture, lets it fall in a silent heap on the floor. I am naked again, exposed to the harsh light of the spots in the rising mist.His hands settle on my shoulders. They are not br
Désiré Me 2 CHAPTER 97 : THE ASHES
DianeSilence is an open wound, purulent with the echo of my own moans. The air is heavy with the smell of sex, sweat, domination. His weight on me is not an anchor, it is a seal. It presses me into the fur, into humiliation, into the irrevocable.Shame does not seep. It floods, black, acidic, rising in my throat in a nauseating flow. I close my eyes and I see, in violent streaks, the spectacle of my degradation: my mouth open on pleas, my hips rising for him, the total betrayal of my own body. The word "love" I spat out like an insult to myself still burns my tongue.I asked for it.This is not a thought, it is a death sentence.He moves, a slight pressure of his hips, and a strangled sound escapes me. He does not withdraw. He remains buried inside me, warm, alive, a completed possession. His breath on my neck is that of a victor savoring his prize. His heart beats, a dull drum against my sternum. And deep within me, in the marrow of
Désiré Me 2 CHAPTER 96: THE BLAZE 2
DianeHe lifts his head, his lips glistening. A cruel and magnificent smile floats on his face.— What is it, Diane? Do you want something?I shake my head, incapable of forming words, rolled over by a wave of shame and need so intense it is painful.He does not yield. His hand, which had been holding my hip, moves, travels up along my thigh, parts the crumpled satin. His fingers brush the center of my heat, through the thin barrier of my lingerie.I cry out, for real this time. A piercing, broken sound.— Hush, he murmurs, all the while continuing that light, unbearable caress. Say it. Say what you want.Tears flow again onto my temples, from frustration, from unfulfilled desire, from the terror of what is happening to me.— I… I can't…— You can. And you will.His pressure intensifies, changes angle. A finger slips beneath the elastic, finds more sensitive, mor
Désiré Me 2 CHAPTER 95 : THE BLAZE
DianeThe silence enveloping us is not peaceful. It is charged with the echo of our kisses, the short breath of our breathing struggling to find a normal rhythm. Lying against him, I feel every part of my being vibrate with a new alertness. The truce is a deception. It is the eye of the storm.His fingers, which were drawing circles on my back, still. Then they become more insistent, now tracing the path of my spine through the fine satin. An uncontrollable shiver runs through me.— You’re trembling, he murmurs, his voice a purr against my temple. Is it from fear? Or something else?He doesn’t give me time to answer. His hand moves, slow, deliberate, to pull up the strap of my dress that he had slid down. But instead of putting it back in place, his fingers linger on the curve of my shoulder, then descend, brushing the top of my breast.I hold my breath.— I want to know, he continues, and his voice has lost its post-kiss softness. It has become that voice of velvet and steel that pie
Désiré Me 2 CHAPTER 94 : THE CANVAS 2
DianeHesitation paralyzes me. It is the leap into the void. The acceptance of everything this means: the betrayal of myself, the entry into his game, the recognition of this twisted attraction.But the memory of his caress on my skin, of the fever he ignites, is stronger.I close my eyes one last time, a silent farewell to the Diane of before.Then I rise on tiptoe, and press my lips to his.---The world explodes in silence.His kiss is not gentle. It is not comforting. It is a mutual conquest and capitulation. His lips are firm, demanding. They move against mine with an assurance that dispossesses me of any remaining will. A strangled sound escapes my throat.His arms envelop me, breaking the last barrier of distance. He pulls me against him, and I feel the contained strength in his body, the tension of his muscles beneath the fabric. One hand on my back, the other sinking into my hair, undoing the perfect edifice, releasing the strands that fall onto my shoulders.I respond to the
Désiré Me 2 CHAPTER 93 : THE CANVAS
DianeThe French door closes behind us with a dull click, sealing off the outside world. The air-conditioned air of the house, dead and perfumed, hits me again. After the brutal frankness of the night, it feels deceitful.He crosses the living room without a glance at me, heading towards the table where a crystal decanter and two glasses stand. He fills one, the amber liquid gleaming in the half-light. He does not offer me any.— Sit down.This is not an invitation. It is a light order, wrapped in the weariness of the night. I remain standing, near the sofa, my arms still crossed over my chest, as if I could contain the turmoil he has unleashed.He sits in a deep armchair, legs stretched out, and raises his glass towards the faint light. He observes the liquid, thoughtful.— Do you know what Laroche told me, while you were dancing? he asks without looking at me.I do not answer. My silence is heavy, palpable.— He told me you were a masterpiece. A living canvas. And that a collector d
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