Affairs Of The Heart: A Désiré Doué x Original Character Erotic Series.
18+ Minors DNI
Chapter 3
While Désiré and Avery knew one another far too intimately to be considered mere acquaintances, they still didn’t know each other well enough to navigate whatever this was beyond the privacy of hotel rooms, late-night phone calls, and stolen moments between cities.
Behind closed doors, everything felt effortless. Outside of them, things became far more complicated.
With only days remaining until France’s next match, and the squad already being tipped as one of the tournament favourites, Désiré and several of his France teammates who were also Nike athletes had been invited as guests of honour to an exclusive soirée in the heart of Manhattan.
Avery had received an invitation of her own.
Neither of them had arrived together, and neither had intended to spend the evening attached at the hip. Yet from the moment they stepped onto the terrace, they became acutely aware of one another’s presence.
Désiré’s eyes shamelessly traced Avery as she stood talking to a group of people he had absolutely no interest in engaging with.
She looked effortlessly sexy, with a Brazil jersey tucked into her bra to make it seem cropped, hugging her figure, paired with fitted black Capri pants and simple red heeled sandals that somehow made the entire outfit feel even more unfair.
It wasn’t glamorous in the way the world was used to seeing her; it was casual, edgy, and yet Désiré found it infinitely more distracting, maybe because this version of Avery felt real, relaxed, herself.
The warm evening light spilt across the terrace as guests mingled, catching the gold jewellery at her wrist whenever she gestured during conversation. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, exposing the elegant line of her neck.
She looked like someone entirely at ease. Which was exactly why he couldn’t stop staring. Despite being one of Nike’s guests of honour for the night, Désiré had spent more time watching Avery than he had speaking to anyone else in attendance.
It wasn’t intentional. At least, that was what he told himself.
Every time someone attempted to pull him into conversation, his attention inevitably drifted back toward her. Back toward the woman laughing beneath the terrace lights, to the flash of gold jewelry against sun-kissed skin. Back toward the confidence she seemed to wear as naturally as breathing.
She moved effortlessly through the crowd, her energy comfortable and magnetic. The sort of person people naturally gravitate toward.
Désiré watched as another group formed around her, drawn in by whatever story she was telling. A burst of laughter followed seconds later.
His lips twitched, he didn’t even know what had been said. He simply liked hearing her laugh and living with the knowledge of what secretly existed between them.
She had given herself to him physically and mentally, allowed him to touch her body in the filthiest of ways. Yet standing there now, separated by little more than a crowded terrace and a carefully maintained public façade, nobody would have guessed it.
To everyone else, Avery was simply another guest enjoying the evening. To everyone else, Désiré was one of the tournament’s rising stars fulfilling sponsorship obligations.
No one could see the moments of unadulterated lust and connection they shared, the late-night phone calls, the endless messages, the FaceTime conversations that stretched far longer than either intended.
No one could see the growing attachment, nor did either of them seem particularly equipped to explain. And somehow that secrecy made the entire situation feel even more surreal.
Avery’s eyes locked with his from across the terrace, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fall away.
The conversations surrounding her faded into background noise. The music drifting through the venue became little more than a distant hum. Even the people standing directly beside her seemed to disappear.
There was only him.
Standing several metres away in a black Nike jersey, hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
The corner of Avery’s mouth lifted before she could stop it, and Désiré immediately noticed. Of course he did.
His smile widened in response, and Avery had the distinct impression that if she looked away first, he would consider it some sort of victory. Which was precisely why she refused to.
For several seconds, neither of them broke eye contact.
It was almost comical.
They were surrounded by athletes, executives, media personalities, and celebrities from around the world, yet somehow the only thing that mattered to either was the fact that they were acting like two people sharing a private joke.
Avery finally shook her head, rolling her eyes as she lifted her glass to her lips in a subtle greeting. The gesture earned an unmistakably satisfied look from Désiré.
He was arrogant, entirely too arrogant. And somehow she found it undeniably charming.
“Do you know him?” One of the women standing beside her noticed where her attention had drifted, and asked casually.
Avery glanced away from Désiré long enough to compose herself.
“No,” she lied
“No?” the woman laughed. “He’s been looking over here since you arrived.”
Avery felt heat begin to creep to her cheeks before she shrugged off the warmth that spread through her body, giving the woman her full attention.
“I think you’re imagining things,” she laughed.
“I’m definitely not,” the woman smirked before excusing herself to speak with someone else, leaving Avery silently questioning whether everyone else had noticed what she had spent the evening trying not to acknowledge.
For a man almost seven years younger than her, he had mastered the art of being all-consuming without so much as uttering a word in her direction, and the fact that it was being noticed by strangers was a thought that made her stomach flip.
Avery hated it. Not because the woman had been wrong. Because she hadn’t. The observation lingered long after the conversation ended, settling somewhere low in her stomach as she glanced back toward the opposite side of the terrace.
Désiré was still there, watching her. Wearing an infuriatingly satisfied expression. The kind that suggested he already knew exactly what she was thinking. The kind that made her want to walk over and wipe it from his face.
Unfortunately, the urge would only prove his point, and as childish as it may have seemed, she couldn't afford him another win.
Avery looked away first.
Not because she wanted to, but because she needed a moment to collect herself. She took a sip from her drink and attempted to focus on the conversations unfolding around her, nodding politely whenever someone addressed her directly.
Yet every few seconds she found her attention drifting back across the terrace. It was downright ridiculous, she was a grown woman. Successful in her own right, independent.
Entirely capable of navigating life without becoming distracted by a twenty-one-year-old footballer.
And yet there Désiré was. Occupying far more space in her thoughts than he had any right to.
When she risked another glance, she discovered he was no longer standing where he’d been moments earlier.
As confident and poised as she may have appeared to the naked eye, there came a point in the evening when Avery felt her social battery begin depleting, and took the end of a conversation she was in to find a quiet corner of the terrace, that overlooked New York as it twinkled in all its glory.
Avery remained there for several moments after the conversation around her had dissolved, grateful for the quiet.
The terrace overlooked Manhattan in all its late-night splendour. Thousands of lights glittered against the darkness, stretching endlessly between glass towers and distant bridges. Somewhere below, traffic crawled through the city streets like ribbons of gold.
Normally she loved views like this, she found them calming. Tonight, however, her thoughts refused to settle.
Closing her eyes, she rolled her neck slowly from one side to the other, feeling the tension that had accumulated throughout the evening. Between the endless conversations, introductions, photographs and social obligations, she felt drained in a way only large events seemed capable of producing.
It was the downside of her existence. People assumed confidence came naturally to her, that she thrived in these environments. When in reality the truth was significantly less glamorous.
Avery had simply become very good at performing.
Very good at smiling when she was exhausted, at making strangers feel as though they knew her. Very good at giving people exactly what they expected.
Her solitude lasted all of thirty seconds, the familiar French accent drifting towards her before she’d even opened her eyes.
“Running away already?” Désiré asked.
“Five minutes,” she replied. “That’s all I wanted.” Avery smiled despite herself.
When she turned, she found Désiré standing a few feet away, one hand tucked into the pocket of his pants. He looked different away from the crowd. Less like the football star everyone had spent the evening trying to talk to.
More like the man she was coming to know.
“You disappeared,” he noted.
“My social battery is running out,” Avery admitted with a small smile, glancing down at her heels that had seemed like a much better idea hours ago.
“Then let’s get out of here,” Désiré shrugged, as if he hadn’t just suggested the most scandalous solution imaginable.
Avery stared at him.
The ease with which he’d said it was almost offensive. No hesitation. No deliberation. Just a simple statement, as though leaving an exclusive Nike event packed with sponsors, executives, athletes and photographers was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Désiré.”
“What?”
“We can’t just leave.”
“Why not?”
“Do you hear yourself?” Avery laughed despite herself.
“All the time.”
His answer earned an eye roll. Unfortunately, the smile tugging at her lips ruined any attempt at looking genuinely annoyed.
Désiré noticed immediately, he had a habit of noticing things where Avery was concerned.
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’m tired.”
“Both can be true,” he smirked.
Avery shook her head, looking out across the Manhattan skyline rather than directly at him. The city stretching endlessly before them, glittering beneath the darkness.
It should have felt calming. Instead, she could feel the exhaustion she’d spent the evening hiding beginning to catch up with her.
Désiré watched her quietly.
Most people looked at Avery and saw confidence.
They saw beauty. Fame. Success. They saw the woman effortlessly commanding every room she entered.
Very few people noticed the moments when she became quiet. The moments when her smile grew a little strained around the edges. The moments when being ‘on’ for everyone else became exhausting.
“You look tired,” he said gently.
“That obvious?” Avery let out a small laugh.
“To me.”
Her eyes drifted back to him. Something about his answer settled warmly in her chest. Not because she’d been called out on it, but because he’d noticed.
“You’ve spent the whole evening talking to people,” he continued. “Taking photos. Making conversation.”
“That’s generally how events work.”
“Want to get out of here?” Désiré asked.
“And go where?” Avery asked, turning now to face him and crossing her arms. “Leaving here with you would make things messy.”
“Then we don’t leave together,” Désiré said, his expression entirely too innocent. “But you’re still coming with me.”
Avery stared at him for a moment before letting out a disbelieving laugh.
“You hear how ridiculous you sound, right?”
“No.”
“You really don’t?”
“Not at all.” His answer was immediate, earning another eye roll from her. The most frustrating part was that he genuinely seemed to mean it.
Désiré stepped beside Avery at the railing, resting his forearms against the stone ledge as he looked out across the city. For a moment neither of them spoke.
The sounds of the party drifted faintly behind them, muted by distance and the warm summer breeze moving through the terrace.
“You’re done for the night,” he said eventually.
“That isn’t your call to make,” she scoffed.
“No,” he agreed. “But I think it’s already been decided.”
Avery opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Because Désiré wasn’t entirely wrong. She was exhausted, socially and mentally.
Her feet hurt. Her cheeks hurt from smiling. She couldn’t remember how many introductions she’d made over the course of the evening. And the idea of another hour of small talk was beginning to sound unbearable.
“Come back to my hotel,” he said again, softer this time. “We can order food, watch something. You can sleep on me if you like.”
“You make it sound very innocent.” Avery said, narrowing her eyes.
“It is,” Désiré smirked.
“That sounded like a lie.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It absolutely was.”
“I just want to spend time with you,” Désiré laughed, the sincerity in his voice catching her off guard.
Avery looked away, focusing on the skyline once again.
“Are you even allowed to have guests at the team hotel?” she asked after a moment, her question immediately amusing him. She could see it in the way his mouth twitched.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I'm not,” he said holding his hands up in innocence as he fought to keep the smile that threatened his lips at bay.
“Désiré,” Avery scolded.
“It’s only my concern,” he said, finally giving up on hiding the smile threatening to break across his face. “And I want you there.”
Désiré's shoulder brushed hers at the railing, barely there, then deliberately closer. She felt the warmth of him before she felt his knuckle tracing the bare skin of her spine.
"You don't fight fair," she breathed.
"I'm not fighting at all, you are." His thumb hooked into the low risen waistline of her capris, easing it down less rhan an inch. "I'm asking nicely."
The terrace stone held residual heat from the days heat. Avery's palms flattened against it, grounding herself as his mouth found the hollow below her ear.
Not a kiss; something hungrier, more carnal as he breathed her in, and she heard herself make a small sound she hadn't meant to.
"We can't do this," she managed, though her head had tilted to give him better access.
"We can leave separately." His palm spread across her stomach, pulling her back against him, and she felt exactly how uninterested he was in anything remotely innocent. "You first. Five minutes."
Avery turned in his arms, meaning to create space, but her hands found his collar instead, pulling his mouth to hers. Her teeth catching his lower lip as his fingers gripped her waist.
Someone laughed, the sound too near for comfort, and broke apart instantly.
"You’re so sexy," Désiré murmured breathlessly, thumb swiping at the corner of her mouth. “Leave now so I can watch you walk away,” he drawled.
As Avery walked away from Désiré, the soft sound of her heels on the terrace floor fading behind her, she felt the air shift. A moment later, his hand landed firmly on her ass, a sharp, possessive slap that sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.
Her pussy jumped, eliciting a sharp gasp she quickly suppressed, her legs clenching instinctively at the sensation. Avery didn't pause, didn't slow down, but the heat of his palm lingered, branding her even as she continued her retreat.
Désiré's eyes were likely still on her, the satisfaction in them a silent taunt. She didn't dare look back, knowing that if she did, the surprise and heat in her eyes would give her away.
Avery slipped out a private entrance, the cool night air a welcome relief as she stepped onto the quiet street. She took a moment to collect herself, her heart pounding in her chest, before heading towards the car parked waiting at the curb for her.
The journey from Manhattan to Brooklyn was a blur, her thoughts consumed by the feel of his hand, and the promise of what was to come.
She entered Désire’s hotel through a discreet entrance, her heart still racing, every step echoing her anticipation.
The concierge didn't look up from his phone, some late-night video playing too loud through his headphones. Avery kept walking, her heels clicking in a hurried rhythm against the marble floor that felt like an admission of guilt with each step she took.
Avery’s breath hitched as she lifted her eyes and saw that Désiré was waiting beside the elevator bank on the far side of the lobby.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The lobby was quiet at this hour, the polished marble floors reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights. Somewhere behind the reception desk, a television murmured quietly to itself. The city felt impossibly far away.
Désiré was leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, looking entirely relaxed. As though he hadn’t spent the entire evening looking at her in a way that made it impossible for her to think straight.
“Come here,” he drawled, and Avery went, her heels altering their cadence without conscious instruction, carrying her across the marble like the floor itself tilted toward him.
The elevator doors slid open as she reached him, her shadow crossing his on the threshold. He didn't step inside immediately. He watched her instead, the corner of his mouth lifting with something that wasn't quite a smile, something that lived lower in his body and made his cock stir.
Taking Avery’s dainty palm into his, Désiré guided her into the elevator, pressing the button for the eight floor before the doors slid closed, giving them the most privacy they'd been given all evening.
“Hi,” Avery smiled softly, letting out a sigh she'd been holding, nipples hardening against the soft fabric of her jersey as she leaned into him.
The elevator hummed upward, a low mechanical purr that vibrated through the handrail beneath Avery's fingers. She felt his thumb trace slow circles across her palm, each rotation chipping away at whatever restraint she had left. The numbers above the door climbed with agonizing leisure. Seven. The hum sharpened. Eight.
The doors parted onto a corridor of carpet and amber sconces, and Désiré's hand found the small of her back, guiding her. His touch was proprietary without being possessive, a question already answered.
Avery walked faster than the pace he set, her breath shallow, each inhale catching on the anticipation coiled low in her stomach. Room 814. The key card clicked green.
He let her enter first. The room was spare, expensive, anonymous; a king bed perfectly dropped
in white cotton, a single window framing Brooklyn's late-night.
"Turn around," Désiré said, the quiet authority in it made her obey before she could consider refusing. She faced the window, her reflection ghosted against the dark glass, as she watched him approach behind her without turning.
His hands settled on her hips, thumbs pressing into the tension there, and she felt his mouth brush the shell of her ear, not quite a kiss, but a promise of proximity.
“What do you want?” Désiré whispered.
“You,” Avery breathed out, her knees weakening as his hands came up to cup her breasts through the thin material of her jersey, his grip tightening a fraction when he realised she’d forgone a bra.
Désiré's breath heated the curve where her neck met shoulder, and Avery shivered, her reflection blurring at the edges. His thumbs rolled across her nipples through the jersey's thin cotton, the friction deliberate, unhurried.
She arched without meaning to, her spine pressing into the solid warmth of his chest, and she felt his low hum of approval vibrate through her own ribs.
“Petit corps parfait,” he sighed into her ear. “Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” Avery answered shamelessly.
“Good,” Désiré murmured into her ear. “Undress yourself for me,” he commanded gruffly into her ear, before moving from behind her so he could take a seat on the edge of his bed.
Avery’s hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her jersey, the cool hotel air meeting the feverish skin as she pulled it up over her head, as she let it drop to the plush carpet, forming a puddle of yellow and green at her feet. Her bare breasts felt heavy, nipples already pebbled tight from the chill and the intensity of his gaze.
He said nothing from the edge of the bed, his dark eyes tracking her, and the silence was more commanding than any instruction.
Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of her leggings, she pushed them down her hips, letting them fall to pool around her ankles, and stepped out of them, kicking them aside.
She stood before him in only the thin red lace of her panties, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she felt the echo in her throat.
“Those too,” Désiré said, his voice a low rasp as he eyed the lace covering the last of her modesty. “Slowly.”
She hooked her thumbs into the lace at her hips, her gaze locked on the floor, and slid the panties down her thighs. The air whispering over her, over the slickness already gathered between her legs.
“Come to the bed,” he ordered, not moving from his seated position. “Lay back. Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.”
Avery climbed onto the cool expanse of cotton, the sheets smelling faintly of soap and the impersonal luxury hotels offered. She settled against the pillows, her legs parting slightly, a gesture that felt obscenely vulnerable.
She glanced at him to find he hadn’t moved yet, his hands resting on his knees, as he sat watching Avery’s every movement.
Her own fingers felt foreign as she brought her hand down, sliding through the wet heat of her folds. A soft gasp escaped her lips as her middle finger found her clit, already swollen and sensitive. She circled it slowly, her hips lifting off the mattress in a shallow, involuntary thrust. Her other hand came up to cup her own breast, thumb brushing a taut nipple.
“Wider,” Désiré commanded, his accent thickening the word into something dark and musical. “Let me see you open yourself.”
She obeyed, spreading her knees further, arching her back to offer herself to his view, as she slipped two fingers inside her pussy, her breath hitching at the sudden fullness.
She began to pump them slowly, the wet sounds of her arousal obscene in the quiet room, as it slicked her knuckles. She kept her eyes on his, watching the way hunger sharpened his features, the way his jaw tightened as she worked herself.
“Ça c’est bon,” he murmured, his hand moving to palm the hard outline of his cock through his pants. “You are so wet for me. Your pussy is begging. Show me how you come. Fais-le pour moi.”
Désiré’s filthy French accent, undone the last thread of her control. Her back arched sharply off the bed, as a choked cry tumbled from her throat and an orgasm ripped through her.
Avery’s body trembled through the aftershocks, eyes closed, fingers still buried deep. The room was silent except for their breathing; hers ragged, and heavy. His a controlled, even hum.
She opened her eyes to see him standing at the foot of the bed, undoing his belt with a sharp, metallic click. He shed his clothes with the same predatory grace he moved with all night, dropping his pants and briefs in a heap, before stepping out of them.
His cock stood thick and heavy against his stomach, already slick at the tip, as he watched her watch him, a faint, possessive smile touching his lips as he remained in place at the foot of the bed.
She pushed herself up on trembling arms, her skin still humming from her own touch, and crawled towards him on her hands and knees. The sheets bunched and pulled under her palms, her breasts swaying with each forward motion, a few strands of hair escaping her bun to stick to her damp temple.
Avery settled on her knees at the edge of the mattress, her face level with his hips. The thick heat of him radiated against her lips. She looked up at him once, his expression raw and focused before she lowered her gaze and pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to the base of his cock.
She took him into her mouth slowly, inch by delicious inch. Her lips stretched around his girth, and her tongue flattened against the underside as she hollowed her cheeks to draw him deeper. The taste of him salty, musky, and purely male.
Avery began to move, establishing a languid rhythm, her hand coming up to wrap around the base she couldn't yet fit. Her other hand drifted down to rub her own wetness again, the need coiling anew even as she focused on Désiré.
Then, something broke loose inside her. The careful, measured pace dissolved into obscene hunger, as she pulled back until just the swollen head rested between her lips, then dove forward, taking him all the way to the back of her throat.
She gagged, her eyes watering as they caught the low lighting of the room, before she did it again, harder, sloppier. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth, slicking her chin, her neck, her collarbones.
She pulled away entirely, panting, and used both hands to jerk his length, as she leaned forward to lick and suck at the tip with noisy, wet slurps, coating her face and breasts with the mess of her saliva.
She was a ruin of need, as she moaned around Désiré, the sounds coming from her muffled and desperate. She looked up at him again, her vision blurred with tears and lust, to see his head thrown back, throat strained, and his hands fisted at his sides as if fighting to keep from grabbing her hair and fucking her face.
He let out a strangled groan that was more curse than praise, his control snapping. One hand raised to get a grip onher, not harsh enough to hurt but firm enough to guide her rhythm.
Avery didn't resist. She surrendered to the movement, letting him set a deeper, relentless pace as his cock hit the back of her throat. The tears streaking her cheeks weren't from pain but from the overwhelming sensation of being used for his pleasure. Her own hand working between her thighs, her clit throbbing under the circling of her fingers.
Désiré’s hips began to stutter, a ragged warning growl rumbling from his chest. "Je vais jouir," he gasped, his French thick with urgency. "You’re going to swallow it, beautiful. Everything.”
She didn't pull away. She tightened her lips around him, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt him swell and pulse. Before the first hot spurt of his cum flooded her senses, salty and thick, as she swallowed him, taking every drop as he shuddered through his release, his grip in her gentling.
When he finally slipped from her lips, spent and softening, Avery collapsed forward, her forehead resting against his thigh, her own body trembling with a spent, hollow ache. The only sound was their ragged breathing in the stillness of his hotel suite.
Désiré’s fingers stroked gently through her hair, setting strands he'd previously ruined back into place.
"Regarde-moi," he murmured, his voice gruff.
Avery lifted her head, her face a glistening, tear-streaked mess. He cradled her jaw, his thumb wiping a smear from her chin, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that felt more intimate than any sexual favours that had been exchanged.
Désiré gave Avery very little recovery time as his hands hooked under her arms, drawing her up the bed until her head met the pillows, and he followed.
His body covering hers, the weight of him a solid, grounding, and hot, as the smell of sex thickened the air between them.
He braced himself on one forearm, his other hand sliding down her stomach, through the slick mess she’d made of herself, fingers finding her swollen clit.
“Please,” was all Avery could manage, her back arching off the mattress, as her words came out in broken syllables.
He notched the head of his cock at her entrance, still wet from her mouth, and pressed forward in one relentless, burning thrust that stole the air from her.
She was impossibly tight, her pussy clamping around him in shocked welcome of his entry, as he held himself there, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to hers, his breath hot and rough against her mouth.
He didn’t wait for her to adjust. Désiré drew back slowly, his cock sliding out until just the tip remained, then drove forward again, a brutal, deep stroke that forced a choked cry from her throat.
His rhythm was possessive, his hips pistoning into her with a focused intensity that owned every inch of her. One of his hands pinned her wrist above her head; the other gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks, holding her in place for his thrusts.
Avery’s world narrowed to the friction of him inside her, the slap of their skin, the raw sound of his breathing in her ear. Her own pleasure was a sharp, coiling knot low in her stomach, tightening with every deep thrust. She felt the moment his rhythm began to fracture, his body tensing as he neared his edge.
“Let me,” she gasped, the words ripped from her. “Désiré… let me… on top.”
He stilled, buried deep, his dark eyes searching her face. He gave a single, sharp nod. In one fluid motion, he rolled them, his hands guiding her as she straddled him, his cock still seated firmly inside her.
The new angle was deeper, more intimate. Avery braced her hands on his chest, her hips beginning to move; slow, testing circles at first, then a rising, desperate rhythm as she began to move up and down along the length of his cock. She watched his face, the way his jaw went slack, the veins in his neck standing out as she took control.
“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hands coming to grip her waist, guiding her pace to match the frantic need building in them both. “Just like that, baby . Don’t fucking stop.”
She rode him hard, her body slick with sweat, every downward grind sending a shock of pleasure through her core. She felt him swell, pulse, his release imminent.
“Cum for me,” she demanded, her voice ragged, her movements becoming wilder, less controlled. “Now.”
His hips bucked up off the bed to meet her final, driving thrust. A guttural shout tore from him as he came, his body locking, his cock pulsing hot inside her. She collapsed forward onto his chest, her own climax washing over her in shuddering waves as she felt him spend himself, his arms wrapping tightly around her.
The air in the hotel room thickened with musk and sweat. Avery lay draped across Désiré’s chest, the frantic pulse of her own heart slowing against the steady, deeper rhythm of his. His skin was damp and hot beneath her cheek.
She could feel the subtle tremor in his thighs, the aftershock of exertion, and the wet, cooling slickness where his cock had just been buried inside her.
He shifted, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers threading into the dark hair now loose from her ponytail. His lips found her forehead, then her temple; soft, lingering presses that were more kisses than pecks.
The tenderness of it made her throat ache. She tilted her face up and met his mouth with hers. This kiss was different: slow, searching, a deep, languid exploration that tasted of shared exhaustion and something dangerously close to intimacy.
When they parted, her breath was uneven for a new reason. She traced the line of his jaw with her thumb, feeling the scrape of stubble.
"We can’t," she whispered, the words sticking. "We can’t make a habit of this."
Désiré’s eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, held hers. He didn’t look away. "A habit of what?"
"Of being… reckless." She pushed herself up on her elbows, creating a sliver of space between their bodies. The sheet was tangled around their legs. "Tonight was one thing—it’s professionally irresponsible. For both of us."
"It feels irresponsible to you?" His voice was low, graveled from use.
"It is irresponsible," she corrected, her own voice gaining its measured, precise edge even as her body still hummed from his. "I have a career built on control and preservation. You have a World Cup to win. This…" She gestured vaguely at the rumpled bed, the discarded clothing on the floor. "This is the opposite of control."
He watched her, his expression unreadable. Then he reached out and caught a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture was unbearably gentle. "Control is what you show the cameras," he said quietly.
Avery felt the truth of it like a physical blow. She closed her eyes, fighting the pull, the want to sink back into him and forget every practical consequence. "It doesn’t change the reality," she said, opening her eyes. "We can’t keep doing this. One night was supposed to be enough."
"It was never enough," Désiré said, his directness cutting through her logic. "You know it was not."
