LOGINKassian LéonI don't wait. I lift her, her legs wrap around my waist, her back against the marble wall. It's cool against her hot skin, I feel her shiver. Then I enter her, in one thrust, deep, perfect.She cries out. A short cry, muffled by my mouth on hers. I kiss her deeply, as I move inside her, as the water hits us, streams between our bodies, unites us even more.It's different from earlier. More animal, more urgent. The wall is cold, the water is hot, she is burning. She tightens around me, squeezes, drains me. Her nails in my shoulders, her moans in my mouth, her legs trembling around me.— I love you, she whispers.The words cut through the noise of the water, cut through the noise of our bodies, cut through everything. I hear them. I receive them. I keep them.I don't answer. I can't. Not yet. But I move harder, faster, deeper. I look into her eyes, I watch her come, I watch her shatter against me. And I
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
ElaraThe darkness descends like a thick, suffocating velvet curtain. It swallows every breath, every muffled moan in the room. My body, still vibrating from the aftershocks of Kael's punishment, tenses instinctively. A heavy, almost palpable silence settles, broken only by the dull thrumming of my
ElaraThe awakening is cold, precise. No trace of the usual grogginess, only an immediate clarity, as if someone has flipped a switch in my brain. His command from the previous evening had worked with disquieting efficiency; my sleep was deep, dreamless, a plunge into the prescribed, restorative vo
ElaraThe sweat dries on my skin, leaving behind a thin, salty film that clings to the sheets. Kael’s weight beside me is a presence as solid and undeniable as a rock rising from the sea. His arm is thrown over my hips, possessive even in rest. I close my eyes, trying to calm the last tremors of my
ElaraHe is there. Dressed in black, as always. His shoulders seem to block the entire doorway. His dark green eyes settle on me, and I feel my body respond instantly tightening, bracing, preparing.He says nothing. He watches me, taking his time, drinking in my nervousness, my fear, my anticipatio




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