LOGINCélia
The trembling within me has not yet subsided. It is like a distant, soft echo, a vibration running through every vein, every nerve. His weight on me is an anchor, a familiar territory. I am liquid and open, offered to the slowness that follows the storm.
Léon does not withdraw. He remains inside me, sated, his forehead against mine. His breath is deep, warm on my face. He places a kiss, gentle as a breeze, on my eyelid, then on the other.
Kassian LéonI slow down. Just enough to make her moan in frustration, to make her move under me, seeking more, seeking better.— No, I say. Wait for me.— I can't...— Yes. Wait for me. We go together.I press my forehead against hers. My eyes in hers. My breath mingled with hers. I move, slow, deep, perfect. I feel the tension building in her, feel it building in me, both climbing, approaching the edge.— Now, I say. Now.The explosion is simultaneous. She cries my name, a stifled, broken cry. I groan hers, voice hoarse, strangled. Our bodies tense, twist, empty into each other. And I don't close my eyes. I don't want to miss a second of that face, that moment, that perfection.---Long after. Too long. A tiny eternity.She lies on me, her weight keeping me grounded, her chaotic breath against my neck. My fingers travel up her spine, counting each vertebra, each secre
Kassian LéonDawn is a blade of grey light cutting through the darkness, slipping between the curtains to shatter against her bare shoulder. I watch her. That's all I do. For how long now? An hour? Two? Sleep has fled me like a coward, leaving me alone with the sound of her breathing, the weight of her head on my chest, the warmth of her skin against mine.She sleeps. Deeply. Her lips are slightly parted, her lashes form two perfect crescents on her cheeks, her hair is a dark mess on the white pillow. She is beautiful. With a beauty that hurts, that tightens the throat, that burns behind the eyes.Everything.The word still echoes in my head. I said it. I let it out. I hadn't planned it, calculated it, controlled it. It came, simply, like a truth that could no longer be silenced.She said same for me.I close my eyes. Breathe. Her scent overwhelms me, mixed with that of the night, of us. I should sleep. I should enjoy th
Kassian LéonIn my white shirt, the one that costs a fortune, the one tailored for my shoulders. On her, it hangs, floats, baring one shoulder. Her hair is up in a messy bun. She's holding a coffee cup. She's smiling at the camera.Below it, a message: You were right. The garden is beautiful. I'm waiting for you.I almost spit out my water.— Alles in Ordnung, Herr Kassian?— Perfectly.I put the phone away. I finish the lunch. I think only of her.Five o'clock. Last meeting.I hold on. I hold on because I'm built for this, because I've constructed myself for this, because nothing and no one has ever made me deviate from my path. I hold on, but it's an effort.Each minute is an hour. Each hour is a day.I want to go home. I want to open the door. I want to see her in my shirt, in my garden, in my life.Uncertainty is a torture I inflict on myself voluntarily. I haven't calle
Kassian LéonI don't sleep that night.Not really. I stay awake in the big bed, listening to her breathe, watching the darkness slowly pale towards dawn. She sleeps, peaceful, her hair spread on the pillow like a signature. One hand resting on my empty spot, as if even in her sleep, she's seeking the warmth I took away.I should be appeased.I'm not.It's worse than before. Worse than the waiting, worse than the uncertainty. Now that I know, now that I've tasted, now that I've heard my name in her mouth at the moment she abandoned herself, I'm hungrier than ever.A wolf's hunger. A beast's hunger.---Six-thirty. I'm in my dressing room, choosing a charcoal grey suit, a navy-blue tie. Mechanical, precise gestures. I could do it with my eyes closed.I go back to the bedroom.She's changed position. She's on her stomach, one arm hanging off the bed, the sheets slipped low over her hips. The grey
LéonDinner unfolds in that strange intimacy. I answer her questions, name the spices, explain why risotto requires patience, why you never serve cheese with fish. She listens, grave, as if each piece of information is precious. She tastes, appreciates, closes her eyes when a flavor surprises her.I don't talk about my work. She doesn't ask. We're suspended, outside time, in this kitchen that has never been used, illuminated by virgin wax candles.When she finishes her plate, she sets her fork down carefully.— It was perfect, she says.— The tiramisu is in the refrigerator.She shakes her head, her eyes on mine.— I'm not hungry anymore. Not for that.The candle flame wavers between us.— What do you want?My voice is lower. She hears it.— You, she says simply. I want you.---I don't ask twice.I round the island, my hands find her waist, lift her off the stool. She sli
LéonHer fingers around my wrist. That infinitesimal pressure, barely conscious. She's still asleep, but part of her is awake, felt me arrive, recognized me.I don't pull my hand away.Time stretches, suspended. The light strips on the bed change imperceptibly, slide from the pillow to her bare shoulders. Night falls, the room sinks into the blue of dusk. I don't move. I don't turn on the light. Just breathing is enough. Watching her is enough.Her eyelids flutter. A long beat of lashes. Her eyes open, lost at first, then they find mine. She doesn't startle. Doesn't pull her hand away. Her lips part in a nascent, sleepy, offered smile.— You're back, she breathes. It's an observation. A happy statement.— I'm back.My voice is hoarse. I barely spoke all afternoon. Just the essentials, the mechanical. True words have accumulated, packed at the back of my throat. Too many, too heavy. I let only one pass,
ElaraHer fingers tighten in my hair, forcing me to look up at her.— Ready to go further?I nod, unable to speak.She smiled, cruel and beautiful, before pushing me towards her sex again.—Then take everything.Kael, behind me, spreads my thighs with a brutal gesture, and I feel the pressure of hi
I lean in, my breath hot on his cheek.“But tonight, Elara, it’s not just what you want that matters. That's what I decide. And what Isadora decides.I stand up, my gaze turning to Isadora. She nods slightly, encouraging me. The hardest part starts now. It's no longer just about the flesh.“Get up,
KaelI drag her to the bed, throwing her on it unceremoniously. She landed on her back, her dress crumpling around her. I throw myself at her, ignoring the discomfort of her clothes, my body seeking direct contact with her skin. I tear the silk, my fingers clawing, ripping, revealing. Her breasts a
ELARANow I'm handcuffed and the leather of the handcuffs tightens my wrists, an icy and implacable second skin. Isadora took her time adjusting them, her fingers brushing my flesh with clinical precision, savoring my submission. Each loop tightens, each metallic click echoes in the thick silence







