On Sunday late afternoon, Angie was pacing around her living room. The memories from the previous night at Jessica's wouldn't stop tormenting her.
Grégory, his eyes, hiss too-expressive silence. His hands—so close, so dangerous. She needed peace, but her heart was still beating to the rhythm of that unresolved tension.
When someone knocked on the door, her stomach tightened.
She already knew.
She opened it.
Grégory.
He stood there. No smile. Dark eyes. Shallow breath.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.
"I was going crazy. I needed to see you."
He stepped in without waiting for permission, as if he already belonged to this space. Angie slowly closed the door behind him.
"Grégory… Jessica has suspicions. She talked to me. She feels like you're distant… that you—"
But he didn't let her finish.
He moved forward abruptly, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. A brutal kiss, hungry, unrestrained. She tried to pull away, mumbled something, but he silenced her with a tender pressure of his lips.
"Don't talk, Angie. Just… don't," he whispered, voice hoarse.
His hands slid down her neck, then to her waist. He pulled her close. She could feel his heartbeat, as frantic as hers.
"You drive me insane, you know? I'm obsessed with you."
She closed her eyes. Resisting had become impossible. She let herself go.
He gently guided her toward the couch. Her back met the soft fabric. He leaned over her, their bodies aligned, his hands already slipping under her shirt.
Angie moaned, surprised by the intensity of her own desire.
"Grégory…"
"Say it again," he murmured, kissing her collarbone.
"Grégory…"
She almost pleaded, wrapping her legs around him. Her breath was ragged, her body burning all over. He undressed her slowly, like he was rediscovering every inch of her. His mouth left scorching trails on her skin—from her neck to her chest, from her stomach to her hips.
"Oh… Grégory…"
The moan escaped her involuntarily, deep and trembling.
"You're beautiful… so damn beautiful," he breathed against her belly, voice husky.
Then he joined her, eyes locked with hers. The first movement of their bodies sent a hot wave rippling through her. She arched under him, a choked cry in her throat.
"Ah… yes…"
Their hips sought each other, found each other, merged.
The thrusts were slow at first, like a dance. Then more intense, deeper. She arched with each motion, panting, lightly clawing his shoulders, head thrown back.
"Grégory… more…"
"You want me to stop?" he asked, breathless.
"No… don't stop…"
Their breathing grew wild, uneven.
"Hmm… ah… Grégory…"
Her moans intensified, bouncing off the walls of the living room. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, her lips again. He groaned at times, muffling his own desire in the hollow of his throat.
"I need you, Angie… you have no idea…"
She panted into his ear:
"I feel it… I feel you…"
The rhythm quickened. He took her harder, deeper. She moaned long and loud, her voice shattered by pleasure.
"Haa… haa… yes… Grégory… more…"
"You drive me crazy… you're my curse, Angie…"
She pulled him against her, kissing him fully between cries.
"Keep going… don't stop…"
Their bodies moved in a wild, intoxicating rhythm. The air was heavy, burning. The sound of their skin, their tangled breaths, their increasingly uncontrollable moans… everything echoed in the room like a forbidden symphony.
"Angie… Angie… I… I…"
"Yes… come on…"
And with one final thrust, he tensed against her, a deep groan in his throat. She, fingers digging into his back, moaned louder, a long, trembling cry as her body surrendered to bliss.
They remained there, clinging to each other, sweating, panting. Their hearts thudding in sync.
Angie, still half-naked on the couch, whispered between breaths:
"We just made a huge mistake…"
Grégory looked at her silently. He stroked her cheek, then rested his head on her chest.
Neither of them moved.
And in the silence that followed, reality began to seep back in.