All Chapters of Désiré Me 2: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

DianeThe silence of the family loft is a concrete wall after the uproar still echoing in my bones. My father is away for the weekend. The staff has time off. There's only the hum of the refrigerator and the deafening echo of what just happened. I'm alone. For real.I slump against the closed door of my bedroom, my back against the smooth wood. My legs tremble, but it's not fatigue. It's electricity. A pure current running under my skin, making every muscle twitch. I look at my hands. They're trembling too. I clench them into fists.It's been a whole day since I've heard from him.No explanation. No word after that kiss in the glass house, that silent seal. Just a dark look, laden with a warning I understood perfectly. He dressed me with a slowness that was torture, another claim. Then he drove. Always that icy silence. In front of my building, he cut the engine."Good night," he'd said, without even looking at me.I got out. Before I could close the door, his voice returned, low, clea

DianeThe 10 AM bell rings, tearing through the monotony of economics class. A scraping of chairs, a murmur of voices, and the hallway fills with nervous, youthful energy. I gather my things with calculated slowness, letting the other students rush toward the exit. My gaze, like a magnet, immediately finds his silhouette.Liam. Stationed near the principal's office door, at the spot where he has a clear view of my classroom entrance. Arms crossed, back straight, face turned toward the crowd but not seeing it. He is a rock in the middle of the current. Invisible to everyone. Hyper-visible to me.Since this morning, since my little calculated stumble, he has doubled down on professional coldness. A palpable, almost physical distance has settled between us. He answers in monosyllables, never looks directly at me, maintains one step more than usual. As if he'd drawn an invisible chalk line on the ground and swore never to cross it again.It's unbearable. And exciting. But mostly… disorien

DianeFive minutes later, as I predicted, a dark silhouette appears at the end of the hallway. He walks quickly, silently, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. He must have waited a reasonable amount of time before "checking that everything is alright." Professional to the end.He sees me. He stops dead, three meters from me."Mademoiselle Moreau. The infirmary is on the other side of the building.""I know," I say, not moving. "I don't have a headache."His expression hardens. "In that case, let's return to the cafeteria.""No. We need to talk.""There's nothing to talk about, mademoiselle." His voice is a cleaver. "Please return to the common areas.""Why? Because you're afraid? Because you now realize how badly you screwed up?"Using the informal 'tu' with him, thrown like a stone, strikes his armor. A muscle twitches in his cheek."You should watch your language. And your accusations.""They're not accusations. It's the truth. Friday. Saturday. The glass house. Your hands on me. Yo

DianeMy hands grip his shoulders, his arms, feeling the muscles contract under the smooth, damp skin. His hands travel over my back, my hips, with feverish impatience, move up to undo the clasp of my bra with an impatient gesture. The black silk fabric falls. The towel at his waist loosens, slips, forms a damp heap at our feet. My last garments the thin panties are torn away, pushed aside by his trembling, feverish hands.There is no more bodyguard, no more spoiled child. No more weakness or mistake to regret. There is only this explosive tension, accumulated over days , stolen glances, hurtful words, silences heavy with innuendo , finally finding its outlet, its violent and magnificent release, in a shock of naked flesh, of gasping breaths exchanged, of muffled moans resonating against wet skin, cold tile."You see?" I pant against his mouth, my fingers sinking into his wet hair, pulling. "You see how much you want me? It's not a weakness. It's stronger than you."I am now a step aw

DianeThe door to Liam's room closes behind me with a dull, final click. The manor's hallway is silent, almost sacred after the inner turmoil that continues to resonate within me. My steps are heavy, hesitant, as if the ground could give way beneath my feet at any moment. My clothes cling to my still-trembling skin, and the smell of him—that mix of harsh soap, sweat, and something wild, exclusive—clings to me like a second skin, a burning secret.I climb the stairs to my room; each step is an effort. My body is both heavy with fatigue and strangely light, electrified. My muscles twitch in fits and starts, physical memories of his hands, his mouth, the brutal and salvific pressure of the wall against my back. Satisfied? His raspy voice loops in my head, a question that wasn't one, but an accusation. A curse.My room is a too-vast, overly neat sanctuary. The door closed, I lean against it, eyes shut. The silence here is different. It's not charged with