ログインHe holds me against him, gently pulling me up so I'm standing facing him, my hands still in his. My breath is short, irregular, oscillating between emotion and desire, my moans mingling with a muffled sob of happiness. Every beat of my heart seems to cry out that he is mine, and I am ready to let myself be carried away in every shiver, every vibration of his body against mine.
His lips find mine again, first softly, almost timidly, then with that intensity that makes
GABRIELSilence is a blade.It sinks into me deeper than her cries, deeper than her body. It burns me from within.I am still inside her. I feel it. And already hatred returns, dull, suffocating, like an oil slick overwhelming me.I pull away with a sharp, almost violent gesture. She barely moans, a cut-off breath, and her body falls heavily back onto the rumpled mattress. Her breath is short, ragged. Her thighs remain slightly parted, marked by my hands, by my rage.I feel like vomiting.I straighten up, stagger, sweat drips from my neck to my lower back. My heart pounds so hard I feel it might burst. My hands still tremble. I look at them as if they don't belong to me.A man's hands. Or a monster's.She turns her head towards me. Her eyes gleam in the half-light, still wet. And that smile. That fucking smile, faint, almost invisible. As if she'd won.— Don't… don't look at me like that.My v
CLÉMENCEHe is inside me.Finally.And he fucks me as if it were the only way to erase me.His first thrust is a thunderclap, tearing me open in one go, deep, merciless. A hoarse cry is torn from my throat, uncontrollable. My thighs clench around his hips, drawing him in even harder. He growls, animal, his fingers digging into my flesh.— Fuck… Clémence…His voice trembles, low, strangled. No tenderness, nothing but a burning rage and a desire he tries to smother under brutality. His hips slap against mine with a violent, sharp, steady rhythm that makes me lose all control.Each time he thrusts, I feel myself splitting, opening wider. Pain mingles with pleasure, inseparable, and I surrender to it.I arch beneath him, grab his rain-soaked hair, pull it back roughly.— Harder, Gabriel… more…He crushes me under his weight, his hands pinning me to the ma
GABRIELThe rain has been relentless since the mass.It beats against the rectory windows as if heaven itself wants to punish me.Each drop is a blow to my conscience, a voice repeating: Sinner. Traitor.I tore off my cassock when I got home, unable to bear the black fabric sticking to my skin like a reproach.I threw myself under a burning shower, hoping the water would wash away what I feel.But the more the heat envelops me, the more it reminds me of her heat.Clémence.Her eyes are there, behind my eyelids.Her lips, I still feel them on my cheek, on my mouth, ghosts of our last exchanges.I pushed her away, I swore I'd never let her near again.And yet…A sharp crack.My fist slams against the tile.The pain radiates, but it's not enough.— Lord… tear this desire from me… or tear my life from me…Silence answers me.A silence
GABRIELThe Sunday bell rings, clear, relentless.I hear each strike as a reminder, a warning.My hands tremble as I put on the chasuble. I hide them in the folds of the fabric, as if I could mask the shiver gnawing at me.The sacristy is silent, only traversed by the familiar smell of wax and incense. I take refuge there for a few more seconds, hoping this brief respite will suffice to stifle the turmoil within me.But nothing works. The echo of her lips still burns against mine.I close my eyes. Breathe deeply.— Lord, give me strength, I murmur. Extinguish this fire.But when I open my eyes again, I already know He will not answer.---The church is packed. The faithful crowd the pews, children whisper, faces turn towards me with expectation.And among them… her.Clémence is there, in the third row.She is not praying. She is watching me.Not with insolence. Not
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
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
JadeI wake before dawn.Not because I slept badly. Not because I had a nightmare.No. I wake simply because I decided to.No alarm. No noise. Nothing.Just this suspended moment, when the house is still numb.And me, perfectly awake.Lucid.The bed is comfortable. A bit too much. The sheets smell
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







