로그인I can still feel his breath against my skin when he pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes don't leave me, and it's worse than anything: I feel like he sees every frantic beat of my heart, every shiver I try to contain, every hesitation that dissolves in his gaze.
— Come here… he murmurs, almost like a prayer, but with that quiet strength that leaves no room for doubt.
His fingers glide slowly along my arm. That simple contact, skin agains
CLÉMENCETwo weeks.Two weeks without seeing him.Since that night when I felt him waver, Gabriel has vanished. Not a glance in the church, not a word in the confessional. I waited for him, through every mass, every prayer, every held breath. In vain.They whisper that he's helping a neighboring parish, that he was sent for temporary missions. Perhaps. Or perhaps he's fleeing what he couldn't contain that night.At first, I thought his absence would quell this fire in me. I convinced myself that time would be enough to extinguish the obsession. But each day without him only stoked the blaze. The more I knew he was far, the more I felt him present, anchored beneath my skin. I endlessly relive that short breath, that hand clenched on my shoulder, that "almost" that left me on the edge of the abyss.And then, this Sunday, he is there.At first, I only glimpse him in a turn of the crowd, a familiar silhouette among others
CLÉMENCEAll day, I thought of nothing else. Of him. Of that silence in the confessional where every word, every breath from him becomes a shiver on my skin. And of that phrase: "Not only for yourself… but for me too."Those words haunt me. I've turned them over in my mind a thousand times. For me too. What does that mean? Does he even realize what he let me glimpse?I can no longer breathe without feeling him near me, even in his absence. So tonight, I've decided. I want to know if this turmoil is real, if it exists in him as it does in me. I want to see him crack, just once.I open my wardrobe and choose my lightest dress. Not indecent , I don't want him to accuse me of immodesty , but the fabric hugs my curves, and the neckline hints at my chest without revealing it. I run my fingers over the fabric, hesitate for a second, then put it on. A discreet scent on my neck, a touch of color on my lips, almost nothing. Just enough so
ClémenceNight falls, and I already feel condemned. His words resonate within me: "You will recite ten Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers…" Like an order engraved in my flesh. But the more I hear them, the more they blend with his own timbre, as if Gabriel hadn't given me a spiritual trial, but an intimate injunction, almost carnal.I close the door to my apartment, this modest refuge where every piece of furniture feels foreign, too silent. My desk is piled with schoolbooks I should be grading, but I can't. How can I focus on spelling mistakes when I'm dying to speak his name, to imagine his lips so close to mine?I sit on the edge of my bed. I clasp my hands like an eager child, close my eyes. The prayer begins.— Hail Mary, full of grace…The first phrase slips off my tongue, but instantly an image appears: Gabriel, his fingers touching the wood of the confessional, his eyes so deep a brown they seem to swallow the world.— The Lord is with thee…I see him, not in his priestly vestment
ClémenceThe night seemed endless. I closed my eyes dozens of times, but each time sleep threatened to come, his face appeared behind my eyelids. I saw his lips, his gaze that pierces the silence, his hands that seemed made to bless and condemn simultaneously. With every beat of my heart, I felt it beat for him.By morning, my eyelids are heavy, but my mind is on alert, obsessed. I feel like I've crossed an arid desert, a desert burned by the fire of desire. My thoughts are dry, my body empty, and my chest so heavy I struggle to breathe. I know I will give in: I will go back to the church. Not because my faith demands reparation, but because my desire demands its poison.I should be elsewhere. I'm a teacher in a small neighborhood school, and I'm supposed to give a reading lesson to my seven-year-old students this morning. Their boundless energy, their eyes bright with curiosity, their voices rising all at once… normally, all this anchors me in a reassuring reality. But today, even th
The Forbidden ConfessionsClémence lives for these moments stolen from the silence of the church. Faithful her whole life, she feels an intense disturbance every time she meets the gaze of the young priest Gabriel. His rigor, his contained gentleness, and that mixture of power and control awaken in her a desire she cannot repress.At each confession, Clémence feels her body shiver, her heart race. She repeats the gestures of devotion, but her thoughts always wander toward the priest. She becomes obsessed with him, imagining their hands brushing, their breaths mingling, every silence of the church becoming a theater of forbidden fantasies.This obsession drives her to seek pretexts to get closer, to test her limits and Gabriel's, subtly provoking him, playing with danger and guilt. She is fascinated by the priest's inner struggle, his battle between faith and desire, and takes secret pleasure in watching his barriers waver.Clémence is the muse and instigator of this clandestine passio
CLARAThe following days are a strange mixture of restlessness and wonder. Every morning, I wake with a new sensation, a deep awareness of the life awakening within me. The dizziness and fatigue are there, light but constant, reminding me that something precious is growing each day.I spend hours observing my belly, gently caressing it, murmuring tender words to this little being who is still only a fragile secret, but already so real. Every movement I feel, every tingling fills me with emotion. The fear of doing wrong, of not being ready, mingles with a deep and immeasurable joy.I also notice the small transformations of my body: my breasts more sensitive, sometimes painful, my changing moods, my food cravings that oscillate between indulgence and repulsion, and that fatigue that sometimes forces me to lie down just to breathe. Every change reminds me that life is growing inside me, fragile and precious.LUCASHe notices every change. Whene
EricI don’t sleep.I let my body rest against hers. I breathe slowly. I let it seem as if I’ve surrendered to sleep. But in truth… it’s the opposite.I am on fire.Her hand is in my hair. Her breath against my forehead. Her scent. Her silence.Everything is too real.Too alive.Too…Her body again
JadeTonight, I'm not playing.Tonight, I don't want to humiliate, to provoke, to twist.I don't want to make Éric bend, nor test his limits, nor smother him with my silence.Tonight, I just want… to look at him.To be here. In this room, with him. Nothing else. Nothing more dangerous than that tru
ÉricThe office door slams shut behind us.The air conditioner hums. The fluorescent lights buzz. Everything seems normal.But nothing is.I can still smell Clara's perfume on my shirt. And Jade's in my throat.It's as if I'm carrying two women at once.One on my skin.The other under my skin.— Wa
JadeI close the door behind me.A barely audible slide, like a secret whispered in the darkness.Every room in this house seems to hold onto me, ready to judge me, to watch me.But me, tonight, I don't tremble.I don't let any weakness show.In this house, every sound becomes a cry, every breath,







