JeanPaulOficial
The grand house was silent, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the frantic rhythm of three hearts in the master bedroom. Champagne and laughter had long faded, leaving a thick, anticipatory tension hanging between the silk sheets. She shifted subtly, her bare leg accidentally brushing against his under the duvet, a spark that screamed in the quiet dark. He lay rigid, every sense hyper-aware of her proximity, of the forbidden line trembling between them. A hesitant hand found his arm, her touch a question he answered with a slow, turning embrace, their breathing becoming one shallow, shared secret. The rustle of cotton and the soft creak of the mattress were a thunderous betrayal in the stillness, a noise that woke his wife beside them. She watched, her face a mask of shattered trust, before slipping silently from the room, a ghost abandoning her own bed. Their guilt was a fleeting shadow, quickly consumed by a rising, reckless tide of desire that made them indifferent to her exit. He moved against her, a desperate, silent conversation of tangled limbs and stifled moans against her neck. The world narrowed to the heat of their skin and the frantic, percussive beat of their joining, a crescendo of motion that could no longer be contained. A final, shuddering release left him spent, his breath catching as he surrendered to her, a profound, liquid warmth flooding her senses as she drank in his essence, the midnight secret now a permanent, bittersweet stain upon the air.
Comments
Post a Comment