#d.doue

Affairs Of The Heart: A Désiré Doué x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 7

Tiptoeing across the warm stone balcony, Avery balanced the frosted glass in both hands as she approached the sun lounger where Désiré lay stretched in the shade.

The ocean behind him was impossibly blue, dissolving into the sky until there was no clear line between the two. He had one forearm tucked beneath his head, eyes closed, the afternoon sun catching the lighter curls at the front of his hair.

A pair of sunglasses rested abandoned on the small table beside him, forgotten sometime between breakfast and the blissful decision to do absolutely nothing.

She lowered herself into his lap, straddling his hips before he could even open his eyes. The sudden weight, the direct contact, pulled a low hum from his chest as his eyes fluttered open, meeting hers from inches away.

The thin nylon of her bikini bottom, little more than a strip of fabric, was no barrier at all. She settled fully, grinding down with deliberate slowness until every last inch of her was pressed flush against the hard line of his swim shorts.

She could feel the shape of him through both layers; the yielding cotton, the heat of her own flesh, she arched her back slightly increasing the pressure, she watched his eyelids lower by a fraction as her reached for her.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice soft against the distant sound of crashing waves.

A slow smile spread across his face, catching in the corner of his mouth before reaching his eyes, which held hers with a lazy warmth.

“Off,” he murmured, tugging on the hem of her T-shirt that fit her like a second skin.

Conscious of her new nipple piercing, Désiré slowly lifted the tee over her head, exposing her bare breasts and the small, silver barbell through her left nipple. The sun’s warmth hit her skin immediately.

His eyes traced down, his smile fading into something more concentrated, a look of focused assessment. His thumb came up, feather-light, to circle the piercing, testing its solidity, the slightly swollen flesh around it.

He didn’t speak. He simply held her gaze and traced the outline of the silver barbell with a careful fingertip, the touch sending a sharp, precise current straight through her core. His other hand came up to cup her right breast, his thumb stroking over the unadorned nipple, comparing the two.

Avery held her breath, her hips still pressed firmly down against the growing hardness beneath her. The contrast was dizzying: the clinical, almost surgical feel of the metal against his skin, and the warm, pliant softness of the rest of her.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was quiet, a low rumble she felt more than heard.

“A little.” She shifted, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate circle, grinding the heat of her against him through their swimwear. “It's really sensitive.”

He watched her carefully, not with the hunger that had flashed across his face a moment earlier, but with an attentiveness that made her chest tighten.

“A little?” he echoed, one eyebrow lifting.

“It was worth it,” she smiled, knowing he wasn’t convinced. “I'm okay.”

“You're so beautiful,” Désiré drawled.

The words hung between them in the warm air, simple and devastating. Her practised smile faltered for a half-second. She was used to compliments, to rehearsed adoration, but this felt different.

The compliment wasn’t about a look, her brand, or image. It was about her, on this lap, her face free of any makeup; as she sat with the metal in her breast serving as a reminder of a moment in time neither would soon forget.

Before she could formulate a response, his hand slid from her hip down the outside of her thigh, then back up, his fingers slipping into the back of her bikini bottoms, and resting there.

Despite their proximity neither Désiré nor Avery pushed further than the closeness they shared; content with being as close as their bodies would allow.

Désiré's fingers flexed against the small of her back, pressing her down more firmly against him. The heat between them, already significant, intensified into a specific, undeniable pressure.

He turned his head, burying his face against the side of her neck, inhaling slowly; as his lips brushed her pulse point, a gesture that felt more intimate than anything overtly sexual.

Avery's body melted against Désiré’s as he held her; her mind going completely blank as she turned her head in search of his lips.

Her lips met his halfway, the kiss deepening immediately, tasting of salt and sun and him. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangling in the damp strands of her high ponytail, pulling it loose.

It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a claiming, a final answer to a question they'd both been circling. The slow heat that had been building between their bodies ignited, a flare of pure need.

His other hand, still resting against her lower back, slid the fabric of her bikini bottoms aside with a single, decisive tug. The cool air against her exposed skin was a shock, followed instantly by the scorching pressure of his palm, cupping her bare ass, pulling her tighter against him.

The rigid length of him, still confined by his own swim shorts, pressed directly against her, separated only by two thin layers of their clothing. Avery gasped into his mouth, her hips bucking forward instinctively, grinding herself against that solid ridge, a low moan escaping her throat.

Désiré broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. He looked up at her, his dark eyes completely black, pupils blown wide. "Tu es sûre?" he asked, the formal French construction at odds with the raw desire etched on his face.

Avery didn't answer with words. Instead, she reached between their bodies, her fingers fumbling for the drawstring of his swim shorts. Her hands trembling, but her intent clear. The knot gave way easily. She pushed the fabric down over his hips, just enough, her fingers brushing against the hot, silken skin of his cock.

He was already fully hard, the thick vein along the underside pulsing against her touch. A shudder ran through him, his head falling back against the lounger with a soft thud.

Avery shifted her weight, rising up on her knees to straddle him more fully. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her own bikini bottoms, shimmying them down her thighs until they were a discarded tangle of fabric around her ankles. The late afternoon sun warmed her completely bare skin, the breeze a whispering contrast that made her nipples tighten.

She looked down at him, at the stark, beautiful reality of their bodies about to join. The control she'd once wielded like a weapon was gone, a distant memory in the poolside lounge chair they occupied. All that was left was a terrifying, exhilarating want.

She lowered herself slowly, guiding him with one hand. The blunt, slick head of him pressed against her entrance, and she paused, hovering there, her body trembling with anticipation. Désiré’s hands came up to grip her hips, his thumbs pressing into the sharp curves of her pelvis bones.

He didn't push. He waited, his gaze locked on hers, giving her the final say. The world narrowed to their point of contact, to the pounding of her own heart, to the silent question in his eyes.

A soft moan slipped from Avery’s parted lips as she sank down, letting her body take him in. The first slow inch was a stretch, a deep, filling burn that made her breath hitch. She held there, suspended, feeling the exquisite pressure, the way her body yielded and clenched around him. Then she lowered herself further, a deliberate, controlled descent that surrendered the last of her pretence.

A ragged groan tore from Désiré’s throat, his hands tightening on her hips, his knuckles lightening a shade against her skin. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment before he forced them open, watching her face as she seated herself fully, taking every last inch of him.

He was buried so deep inside her, so perfectly full, that for a drawn-out moment they both simply remained still, breathing in rough, uneven syncopation. Avery’s body clenched reflexively around the thick, hot length of him, a pulsing rhythm that drew another guttural sound from his chest.

His hands on her hips were firm but surrendered, his thumbs stroking slow circles against her skin.

“Do what you want with me,” Désiré said, his voice rough and wrecked, the French accent thickening the words. His dark eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide with want. “All of it.”

The command, whispered from a place of complete submission, ignited something feral in her. Avery began to move, a slow, grinding roll of her hips that made him hiss through his teeth.

She leaned back, planting her hands on his thighs, using the leverage to lift herself nearly all the way off him before sinking back down with more force. The slap of skin against skin was obscenely loud in the quiet air.

She set a deliberate, punishing pace, each downward plunge taking him deeper. The wet, filthy sound of their joining was a counterpoint to her own sharp gasps. Désiré's hands flexed against her, but they never tried to steer or control. He just held on, his head tipped back, throat exposed, jaw clenched as she rode him with a focused, almost possessive intensity.

Avery felt the sweat begin to slick the skin of his abdomen where it met her own. Her movements grew sloppier, less measured, driven purely by the need to chase the tightening coil of pleasure in her own belly.

She fucked him like she owned him, like he was a toy made for her pleasure, and he took it all, his body a taut, trembling in offering beneath hers.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the word a raw scrape of air. His hips bucked up involuntarily, meeting one of her downward strokes, and the new angle made her eyes roll back, and she cried out; a sharp, high-pitched sound, as her rhythm fractured into a wild desperation.

Drawn by the sound of her name ripped from his lips, Avery collapsed forward, her mouth finding Désiré’s. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, tasting of want and salt. She ground herself down onto him one final, desperate time, her body clamping tight.

“Do it,” she gasped against his mouth, the words mangled. “Cum inside me.”

It was an order, a demand for final, messy proof. He groaned into her mouth, his body arching up off the chair as he obeyed. Avery felt the hot pulse deep within her, a series of warm spurts that sent another shuddering wave through her own muscles. She rode him through it, milking him with slow, possessive rolls of her hips until he went utterly slack beneath her.

For a long minute, they stayed like that, tangled and slick. Then, with a soft grunt, Avery pushed herself up, her legs trembling as she moved to lie beside him.

“Inside. Now.” Before she could lower her body onto the lounger, Désiré took her hand and tugged gently.

She followed wordlessly, still dazed, as he led her from the poolside through the sliding glass doors into the cool, dim villa. They didn’t speak. They didn’t clean up. They just climbed into the massive, rumpled bed, their bodies finding each other in the tangle of sheets.

Exhaustion hit her like a drug, the adrenaline of control and release draining away. She was asleep within seconds, her face pressed against the damp skin of his shoulder.

Avery woke to a sliver of late afternoon light cutting across the bed. Désiré was still asleep beside her, one arm flung across his face, his breathing deep and even. She slipped from the bed, her muscles pleasantly sore. The scent of sex and chlorine clung to her skin.

Padding into the ensuite bathroom, she turned the shower on full, the hot water a scalding relief. She stood under the spray for a long time, letting it wash the afternoon away.

When she finally stepped out, wrapped in a thick towel, her phone's melodic ringtone echoed from somewhere in the bedroom just as she tightened the towel around herself.

She glanced back toward the bed. Désiré hadn’t stirred. One arm remained draped across his face, his breathing slow and even, completely oblivious to the world beyond the bedroom.

Smiling to herself, Avery crossed to the bedside table where her phone vibrated insistently against the wood. The screen lit up with a familiar name.

Tabitha.

She answered immediately, lowering her voice out of instinct more than necessity.

“Hi.”

“There you are,” Tabitha laughed. “I was beginning to think Miami had swallowed you whole.”

“It nearly did,” Avery replied with a smile, brushing damp hair back over her shoulder.

“I was going to ask if you fancied grabbing dinner later, but judging by that voice…” Tabitha paused. “You sound half-asleep.”

“I sort of am.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Avery glanced across the room toward the bed.

“No. You actually have pretty good timing.”

“I’m outside.”

Avery blinked.

“…Outside?”

“Outside your villa.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

“I thought I’d surprise you.” There was a grin in Tabitha’s voice. “Unless this is a terrible time?”

Avery laughed quietly.

“It’s definitely unexpected.”

“So… should I leave?”

“No.” Avery smiled. “Give me two minutes.”

She ended the call and stood still for a moment, looking back toward the sleeping figure in the bed.

The afternoon light softened every sharp edge of him. One leg was tangled in the sheets, curls falling untidily across his forehead. For someone whose life was lived beneath stadium floodlights and camera flashes, he looked remarkably peaceful.

Careful not to wake him, Avery decided against rummaging through her bags and pulled on a loose cotton robe before quickly running a brush through her damp hair.

She slipped her phone into the pocket of the robe, took one last glance towards the bed, and quietly eased the bedroom door shut behind her.

The villa was hushed as she descended the staircase, broken only by the distant rhythm of waves rolling onto the beach beyond the terrace.

Crossing the entrance hall, she unlocked the front door and pulled it open.

“Hi,” Avery whispered, her smile widening as she pulled open the door to her best friend.

“There she is,” Tabitha grinned, immediately wrapping her in a hug.

Born and raised in New York, Tabitha had somehow conquered an industry that rarely let anyone stay on top for long. At just twenty-seven, she’d styled campaigns for some of fashion’s biggest houses, dressed celebrities for the Met Gala, and built a reputation people twice her age envied. None of it had changed her.

If anything, success had only amplified what Avery loved most about her: the easy generosity, the quick wit, and the uncanny ability to make every room feel lighter simply by walking into it.

In an industry built on ego, Tabitha remained one of the most beautiful souls Avery had ever known.

“I feel like it’s been forever,” Avery whispered, earning a puzzled look from her best friend.

“Why are you whispering?” Tabitha blinked.

“I’m… trying to be considerate,” Avery said, instinctively glancing over her shoulder, as though someone might be standing in the hallway.

“Of who?” Tabitha folded her arms.

“Someone’s here.” Avery hesitated for exactly one beat too long.

A slow, knowing smile spread across Tabitha’s face.

“Avery.”

“Don’t,” she huffed.

“You have a man in your villa.”

“I didn’t say that.” Avery bit the inside of her cheek, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“You didn’t have to.”

Tabitha laughed, shaking her head in amusement as she took a closer look at her best friend, who wore all the unmistakable signs of a woman who’d spent the afternoon hopelessly distracted.

Her cheeks still held the flush of the Miami sun, her lips curved into an absent smile she seemed incapable of suppressing, and there was a softness around her eyes Avery hadn’t carried in years.

“Spill.”

Avery let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she led Tabitha farther into the villa.

“Can I at least offer you something to drink before you interrogate me?”

“No.”

“Tab—”

“Absolutely not.” Tabitha pointed an accusing finger at her. “You have exactly thirty seconds before I start making wild assumptions.”

“I’m… seeing someone,” Avery admitted, the words sounding strangely unfamiliar in her own voice. She busied herself with the drinks cabinet, reaching for two chilled bottles of sparkling water more for something to do with her hands than because either of them needed one.

Tabitha watched her in silence, accepting the bottle once Avery twisted the cap free and slid it across the marble island. She didn’t rush to speak. She knew Avery well enough to recognise that every sentence she volunteered had probably been rehearsed in her head half a dozen times before it reached her lips.

“Seeing someone?” Tabitha repeated, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Avery, the last time you said you were ‘seeing someone,’ it meant you’d had coffee with a man twice and were already looking for reasons to end it.”

Avery laughed softly, lowering her eyes.

“This feels… different.”

The smile on Tabitha’s face softened almost immediately.

“Different how?”

Avery rested both palms against the cool marble, searching for an answer that didn’t make her sound completely unrecognisable to herself.

“I don’t feel like I’m protecting myself all the time anymore,” she admitted quietly. “It’s unsettling.”

Tabitha studied her for a long moment before asking the question she already knew the answer to.

“He’s here?”

Avery nodded.

“He’s asleep upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Tabitha’s eyebrows climbed. “As in… the bedroom you’re sleeping in?”

Avery nodded again.

“What’s his name?”

“Désiré Doué.”

Tabitha stared at her for a moment before recognition flooded her face.

“As in Désiré Doué?”

“Yes.”

“Wait…” She blinked. “How old is he?”

“He’s twenty-one,” Avery admitted, the number falling from her lips before she could soften it.

Tabitha’s expression flickered; not quite shock, but something close. She carefully set her bottle down on the island.

“As in… six years younger than you?”

“Exactly.” Avery smeared her thumb through the condensation on her bottle, watching a droplet trail lazily down the glass.

Tabitha was quiet for a beat, processing.

“And he’s asleep in your bed right now?”

“He was tired.”

“I’m sure he was.”

Avery shot her a look, but there was no judgment in Tabitha’s expression; only the careful concern of someone choosing her next words with great care.

“Oh my God.”

“You’re not helping.” Avery sighed, closing her eyes for a brief second.

“I’m not trying to help yet.” Tabitha leaned both elbows onto the island, concern replacing the amusement in her expression. “Avery… he’s twenty-one. He’s one of the biggest young footballers in Europe. His life is cameras, speculation, people wanting something from him. Does he even get to have a private life?”

“He’s different,” Avery said, hearing how naïve it sounded even as the words left her mouth.

Tabitha didn’t challenge her. She simply waited.

“I know how this looks,” Avery continued, quieter now. “I know what people would say. Cougar. Desperate. Midlife crisis at fucking twenty-seven.” She shook her head with a humourless smile. “I’ve run all the headlines already. Multiple versions.”

“And?”

“And I still invited him to Miami.”

The admission lingered between them, raw and unpolished.

Tabitha watched her for a long moment before a small smile found its way onto her face.

“You didn’t just invite him to Miami,” she said gently.

Avery frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“You invited him into your life.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“For you?” Tabitha shook her head softly. “It is.”

Avery looked away toward the ocean beyond the open glass doors, letting the words settle.

“You like him.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an observation.

“I like him,” Avery echoed, the confession feeling both terrifying and liberating. “He’s… God, Tab, he’s not what you’d expect.”

Tabitha was silent for a long moment.

“And you trust him?”

Avery thought of Paris. Of New York. Of the tattoo studio. Of the way he had cleaned her new piercing with such unwavering gentleness, the way he’d never once rushed her, never once asked her to become someone she wasn’t.

“I do,” she admitted softly. “That’s the terrifying part.”

“So the article Taylor wrote… it was him?” Tabitha asked, connecting the dots.

“She saw me at a game, we had a drink in the city afterwards and Désiré picked me up from the bar we were at. Not once did she actually see us together, but I guess it was enough for her to speculate.” Avery let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “She never asked me for comment. Never called. Never texted. She just published it.”

Tabitha frowned.

“She didn’t even know it was him?”

Avery shook her head.

“No. She didn’t know anything.” She twisted the cap of her bottle between her fingers.

“She knew I went to the game, so she wrote that I was supposedly involved with one of the players. She never named anyone because she couldn’t.”

“Fucking snake,” Tabitha spat, her expression hardening. “That's so exploitative.”

“After that I left Désiré in New York to start preseason and headed back to Los Angeles,” Avery explained quietly. “I thought putting a few thousand miles between us would make everything… less complicated.”

Tabitha raised an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing it didn’t.”

“Not even a little.” Avery laughed softly.

She smiled despite herself, remembering the evening France were knocked out of the World Cup.

“He called me that night.” Her voice softened. “I’d been watching the match at home, and I remember thinking he’d probably have a hundred people trying to get hold of him. His family. His teammates. The press.”

She looked down at the bottle in her hands.

“Instead, he called me.”

Tabitha listened without interrupting.

“He wasn’t looking for anyone to tell him everything would be okay.” Avery smiled faintly. “He just… wanted me.”

The admission lingered between them.

“We spoke for a little while,” Avery continued. “Nothing extraordinary. He asked how I was. I asked how he was holding up. We talked until it felt like neither of us had anything left to say.” She recalled letting out a quiet laugh.

“The next morning I booked the first flight to New York.”

Tabitha blinked.

“That fast?”

“I spent almost two weeks telling myself I needed space.” Avery shrugged. “One phone call was enough to make me realise that maybe space wasn’t what I wanted.”

“So you flew to him?” A knowing smile spread across Tabitha’s face.

“I flew to him.” Avery nodded, glancing instinctively toward the hall before meeting her best friend's gaze.

“And now we’re here.”

Avery let the silence settle for a moment, neither woman feeling any particular need to fill it. Beyond the open doors, the ocean shimmered beneath the late afternoon sun, and somewhere outside a seagull cried overhead before disappearing into the humid Miami air.

Without really thinking about it, Avery wandered toward the console table near the entrance. Her small black Chanel purse sat exactly where she’d left it. She reached inside with the absent-minded familiarity of habit, retrieving a slim silver blister pack.

She popped one tablet free with her thumb, as the soft click of plastic echoed through the quiet kitchen.

Tabitha watched her for a second before her eyes widened in realisation.

“…Are those birth control pills?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Avery glanced down at the packet in her hand as though she’d only just remembered what she was holding. “They are.”

Tabitha’s eyes lingered on the silver blister pack for a moment before lifting back to Avery’s face. “When did you start taking it?”

“After Paris.”

There was no judgment in Tabitha’s expression. Only understanding. “You thought you were going to see him again?”

“I don't know; I guess I hoped I would.” Avery gave the smallest shrug. “One night was supposed to be enough.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t think one night was ever going to be enough.” Avery smiled to herself, a quiet, almost disbelieving smile.

A soft shuffle of bare feet on the hardwood floor announced him before he did.

Désiré appeared in the open archway that led from the living area into the vast white kitchen. He stood there, blinking sleep from his dark eyes, his bleached curls slightly flattened on one side.

He was shirtless, the smooth, muscular planes of his torso and shoulders on full display, a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants hanging from his hips. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on Avery first, a soft, instinctual focus settling there before it widened to include the other woman at the island.

Avery turned, her expression softening immediately. “Oh, you’re up.”

He nodded, a small, private smile touching his lips as he padded toward them. He didn't seem self-conscious about his state of undress in the slightest; it was just how he was, natural and unperformed. His attention flicked politely to Tabitha, who was watching with a carefully neutral expression, her brows slightly raised.

“Désiré, this is my best friend, Tabitha,” Avery said, her voice warm. “Tabitha, this is Désiré.”

He gave a small, respectful nod. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice still a little rough with sleep, the French cadence more pronounced. His eyes, however, drifted back to Avery almost immediately, as if pulled by a magnet.

Without preamble, he closed the last step between them. His hand came up to cup her elbow gently, then slid around her waist, drawing her smoothly against him. Avery went easily, her body fitting against the warmth of his bare chest with a familiarity that made Tabitha’s breath catch. He dipped his head, his lips brushing the shell of Avery’s ear.

Tabitha watched, transfixed. The sheer physical difference between them was more striking than anything her imagination could've conjured; Avery was several inches shorter than him, her head tucking perfectly beneath his chin.

But it wasn't just the height. It was the way his hand splayed possessively, protectively, against the small of her back, his fingers flexing slightly. It was the way Avery’s own hand came up almost reflexively to rest on his sternum, her thumb stroking a small, absent circle over his skin. Neither of them seemed aware they were doing it; it just seemed to be their default state when in close proximity to one another.

Désiré whispered something, too low for Tabitha to catch. Avery’s shoulders relaxed, and a genuine, unguarded smile broke across her face; a look Tabitha hadn’t seen in a while. She nodded against his chest, murmuring something back.

Watching them, Tabitha felt a piece of the puzzle click into place. She had expected chemistry. She hadn’t expected quiet. She hadn’t expected the way Avery visibly relaxed the moment he crossed the room, or the way Désiré reached for her without hesitation, as though touching her had already become second nature. It wasn’t theatrical or possessive. It looked effortless.

By the time late afternoon transformed into dusk; the marina shimmered beneath thousands of suspended lights, each yacht anchored at the dock reflecting ribbons of gold across the dark water. Music drifted through the warm evening air; not loud enough to overwhelm conversation, but enough to blur the edges of the crowd into a constant pulse of movement.

Drivers, sponsors, athletes, models and actors moved between the terraces with glasses of champagne balanced effortlessly in hand, the opening weekend of Formula One bringing together the kind of people who were accustomed to cameras following them wherever they went.

Avery had changed twice before settling on the dress currently skimming her body; it was unmistakably Miami.

The black jersey clung softly to her figure, the abstract zebra print wrapping across her torso before disappearing around the completely open back. The hem barely grazed the tops of her thighs, balanced by impossibly high black platform heels that lengthened her elegant frame.

Her hair had been pulled into a sleek ponytail, exposing the delicate diamond studs at her ears, while her makeup remained almost imperceptible, all glowing skin and glossed lips.

She had spent enough years attending events like this to understand that the most memorable women rarely looked as though they had tried too hard.

Désiré had arrived separately from Avery and Tabitha, but prior to leaving the villa in his own chauffeur-driven car made sure to let her know just how much he appreciated her outfit choice.

Inside the party; conversations overlapped with laughter and the steady pulse of music. Waiters weaved effortlessly between guests carrying silver trays balanced with champagne flutes, while flashes from photographers outside occasionally burst through the open entrance.

The guest list read like the front row of Fashion Week crossed with the Formula One paddock. Drivers stood talking with luxury sponsors, Hollywood actors laughed beside athletes, and designers embraced musicians they’d dressed only weeks earlier. Everyone seemed to know someone, and everyone, whether they admitted it or not, was quietly watching everyone else.

Avery recognised at least half the room. She moved through the crowd with the effortless ease that came from years of attending events exactly like this, exchanging kisses on cheeks, brief embraces and polished conversations that somehow managed to feel warm despite lasting no more than thirty seconds. She had perfected this version of herself years ago; gracious, poised and endlessly composed.

Tonight, however, her attention kept drifting elsewhere.

Not obviously. Never long enough for anyone to notice. Just enough to quietly map the room between conversations.

It took almost five minutes before she found him.

Désiré stood near the edge of the main terrace speaking with several men he was clearly familiar with. His black slack impeccably tailored to fall perfectly over the Nike sneakers he wore, paired with a white shirt left open at the collar, making him appear older than twenty-one without disguising the youthful ease that still lingered in the way he carried himself.

He smiled politely at something one of the executives had said, looking every bit the composed professional footballer accustomed to rooms exactly like this.

From where Avery stood, he looked completely at ease. As though he’d attended events like this his entire life. As though she hadn’t spent the afternoon asleep beside him only hours earlier.

Almost absently, his gaze swept across the room.

For the briefest moment, their eyes met.

Nothing happened.

No smile crossed either of their faces. No lingering glance. No subtle acknowledgement that would have meant anything to anyone watching. A heartbeat later he looked away again, seamlessly returning to his conversation, and Avery did exactly the same, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter without breaking stride.

Anyone observing them would have assumed they were complete strangers.

Exactly as planned.

“You’re staring,” Tabitha said quietly beside her.

“I’m observing.”

“Mmm.”

Avery glanced sideways. “What?”

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of Tabitha’s mouth as she lifted her champagne flute. “You’ve looked in his direction three times already.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

Before Avery could argue her case, a familiar voice slipped smoothly through the surrounding conversation.

“Avery.”

She turned.

Taylor stood only a few feet away, a champagne flute balanced delicately between perfectly manicured fingers. She smiled with practiced elegance, the kind reserved for cameras and crowded rooms.

Affairs Of The Heart: A Désiré Doué x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 6

If it were up to Désiré, he’d spend the remainder of the summer disappearing into Avery. But for two people whose lives were forever pulling them in a million different directions, it was never going to be that simple. For the moment; for as long as they had before life took over again, they indulged.

He let out a low, lazy groan as he climbed onto the bed, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing beneath his skin as he crawled towards Avery. She lay in the middle of the mattress, swallowed by his oversized sweatshirt, watching him with quiet amusement.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she smirked teasingly, her thighs spreading a little wider to make space for him as she welcomed his weight on top of her.

His expression shifted, amusement darkening into something sharper as he settled himself between her thighs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of the sweatshirt to find the warm skin of her hips. “You can let me in,” he said, his voice a warm, low rasp that vibrated through her.

She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, the teasing edge gone, replaced by a breathless anticipation. His cock, hard and hot through his shorts, nudged against her pussy, hardly concealed by the thin lace of her thong. He didn’t push, just held himself there, letting her feel the weight and heat of him.

“I let you in multiple times this morning,” Avery smirked, lifting her head to catch his bottom lip between her teeth.

A low, rough laugh escaped him, the sound vibrating against her lips. “That was not letting me in,” he murmured. His hips rocked forward once, a slow, deliberate press that made the lace of her thong wet against her skin and his own straining hardness. “That was a temporary accommodation. A courtesy.”

His thumbs stroked circles against the bones of her hips, his gaze holding hers. The teasing vanished completely, replaced by a deep, focused intensity. “I am asking for something else now. To be here.” He dipped his head, his mouth finding the soft skin just below her ear. His teeth grazed, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her gasp, her body arching up into his. “Not just the physical part. All of it. The quiet. The mess. The thoughts you do not say.”

He kissed a path down the column of her throat, his movements unhurried, his touch possessive in a way that felt less like a claim and more like an invitation to surrender.

The sweatshirt rode up, exposing the flat plane of her stomach, and he traced the line of her hip bone with his tongue, his hands sliding up her sides to cradle her ribs. She could feel him everywhere—the heat of his breath, the solid weight of his body, the hard promise of his cock pressing insistently against her.

“You want to control it. I understand,” he whispered against her skin, his voice muffled. “You can control me, if you like. Tell me to stop. Tell me to go slower. But you cannot control this.” Another deliberate rock of his hips, the friction a blunt, perfect torture through the thin barrier. “This, you must feel.”

“I do,” Avery whispered, tilting her hips towards the friction of him.

Her two simple words seemed to strip the air from the room. Désiré went utterly still above her, his hands on her ribs, his breath catching. Then he let out a shuddering exhale against her skin, a sound of pure relief that held no triumph, only a raw, open gratitude. His next kiss was not strategic or teasing. It was a slow, deep, claiming press of his mouth to hers that tasted of surrender from them both.

He broke the kiss only to hook his thumbs into the waistband of the delicate thong, peeling them down her thighs with a focused, reverent slowness. His eyes never leaving her pussy, as she lay fully exposed to him.

The sight of her, wet and open for him in the afternoon light, made his jaw tighten. “Mon Dieu,” he breathed.

He slid off the bed to kneel on the floor between her legs, his hands spreading her thighs wider as he bent forward. His mouth was on her before she could process the movement, his tongue licking a broad, wet stroke through her folds.

Avery’s head snapped back against the pillows, a choked cry tearing from her throat. It was not gentle. It was hungry, thorough, and devastatingly direct, his nose nudging her clit as his tongue fucked into her.

“Baby—” she gasped, her hands fisting in the curls of his hair. He ignored the pull, his grip on her thighs tightening to keep her open as he settled into a ruthless, rhythmic rhythm and he lifted his eyes to watch her face.

The pleasure built fast, a coil tightening low in her belly, her heels digging into his shoulder blades. This wasn’t the careful, performative pleasure of her past. This was consumption. He drank her in like a man finding water in a desert, a low, possessive groan vibrating against her core.

“Look at me,” Désiré grumbled against her, his tongue

flicking relentlessly over her clit. The command a raw, physical shock that drew her eyes open.

She found him watching her, his face buried between her thighs, his gaze dark, intense enough to anchor. She was pinned by it, by the intimacy of being seen so completely.

“Come here,” Avery gasped. “I want to kiss you.”

He released her with one final, lingering lick that made her whole body jolt, a soft sound of protest escaping her. Désiré pushed up from his knees, his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth and chin glistening with her. He didn't wipe it away. Instead, he moved over her, his weight settling between her thighs, his hands cradling her face as he brought his mouth to hers.

The kiss was a shock of salt and musk, an intimacy so profound it shattered the last of her distance. He kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue, his breath ragged against her lips.

He was fully hard against her stomach, the thick, heavy length of him a promise through the thin cotton of his sweats. One of his hands slid from her jaw down her throat, over her racing pulse, to cover her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple until it hardened into a tight peak.

Avery arched into his touch, her hands roaming the solid planes of his back, feeling the sweat-slicked heat of his skin and the flex of muscle beneath.

Sitting up, Avery settled on her knees before him, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweats. She pushed them down over his hips, the fabric catching on his hard cock before it sprang free, thick and heavy. Désiré’s breath hitched as her hands wrapped around his length, her thumb sweeping over the bulbous tip.

She lowered her head, her lips pressing a kiss just below the crown, before her tongue flicked out to taste the salty precum gathered there. His hand came to the back of her head, not pushing, just resting, his fingers tangled in her curls.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice rough. He watched her, his dark eyes intense, as she took him into her mouth, her lips stretching around his girth.

The heat of her mouth, the wet, tight slide and suction sent a tremor through his entire being. His hips twitched, a reflex he fought to control, as his free hand moved to tangle in her hair.

She moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her eyes flicking up to meet his, holding his gaze as she took him deeper. The visual of her, on her knees, her lips stretched around him, her expression one of focused surrender, was almost too much.

Yet still; he leaned into her throat. A groan ripped from his chest as he reached the hilt and she gagged around him before regaining her composure.

His hips stuttered, a gruff French curse tearing from his lips as he came in her mouth, his body going tense for a long, shuddering moment before he collapsed back, gasping.

Avery swallowed around him, her own breaths coming in heavy pants, saliva and the remainder of him dripping from her swollen lips.

She pulled back, leaving him wet and spent, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The slick warmth trailed down her chin, onto her throat, pooling between her breasts. She looked down at the mess she’d made of herself, glistening strands and pearly streaks across her skin, clinging to her nipples and coating her stomach.

She pushed herself up from the bed, her legs unsteady, and padded across the plush hotel carpet toward the bathroom. The cool air raised goosebumps on her slick skin.

Before she could reach the sink, Désiré was behind her, his hands gentle on her hips. He moved past her, turning the faucet to warm, and soaked a soft white washcloth under the stream.

He turned back to her, his expression focused, tender. He didn’t speak. He began at her collarbone, the warm, damp cloth wiping away the trails from her chin and throat with slow, deliberate strokes.

His touch was methodical, cleansing her breasts, circling each peaked nipple until they were clean, then moving down her stomach, erasing every trace of their coupling. He knelt briefly to attend to her thighs before rising, his eyes meeting hers.

He rinsed the cloth, wrung it out, and hung it neatly over the towel rack, before holding out his upturned palm to her.

“I can't get enough,” Désiré drawled, pulling her pliant body into his embrace, his lips finding her hairline as his warm fingertips traced the curve of her spine.

Avery leaned into his touch, letting her forehead rest against his chest, feeling the steady, drum of his heart. She felt his mouth in her hair, his voice a low vibration through her bones.

She felt his fingertips drawing circles over the small of her back, a calming pressure that made her feel held and understood in a way she wasn't ready to name.

He shifted his hands, sliding them down to cup the backs of her thighs, and lifted her easily, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“We should do something fun,” Désiré suggested, his voice muffled against her skin.

“Something that requires clothing,” Avery agreed, her lips curling into a smile against the crease of his neck.

Désiré carried her back to the dishevelled bed, laying her down on the fresh side of the sheet before sprawling beside her, his hand coming to rest on her belly. His thumb stroked the soft skin there. "I have been speaking to a tattoo artist out here."

Avery's eyes fluttered open, her gaze searching the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling. "Tattoos are your idea of fun?"

”And expression," he said, his tone casual, but his fingers tightened slightly on her skin. "I won't force anything on you… Just be there with me.”

“As great as the sex is, there is no way you were ever going to convince me to get a tattoo.” Avery giggled as she lifted her head to look at Désiré. “But I'll hold your hand.”

Désiré’s laugh was a low, easy sound. He brought the hand he was resting on her belly up to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “That is all I ask.”

He sat up, the sheet falling to his waist, and reached for his phone on the nightstand. His thumb scrolled for a moment before he held the screen out to her.

Avery took the phone, her fingers brushing against his. She studied the image, the quiet focus of the artist’s work. It felt like a window into a part of Désiré she hadn’t yet seen; not the footballer, not the lover in a hotel room, but the man making a permanent mark on his own skin.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice softer than she intended as she handed the phone back.

“Will you come?” he asked, his dark eyes holding hers. There was no pressure in the question, only a quiet offering.

She felt the familiar tug of war inside her chest—the instinct to protect her schedule, her privacy, her carefully managed distance, clashing with the deeper pull toward him, toward this raw, unguarded intimacy.

“If you’ll have me,” she heard herself say. The words feeling both reckless and inevitable.

His smile was slow and beautiful, a reward she hadn't known she was seeking. He leaned down, his lips finding hers in a kiss that tasted of promise. Then he moved, sliding from the bed in a single fluid motion, the air cool against their damp skin.

He stood beside the bed, looking down at her where she lay among the rumpled sheets. His body was a sculpture in the dim light, lean muscle and soft skin. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and reached for him.

Her arms circled his waist, pulling him closer until her cheek rested against the taut plane of his lower abdomen. She could feel the quick, steady beat of his pulse beneath his skin. She turned her head and pressed her lips to his skin, a soft kiss just above his hip bone, then another a little higher. A low hum vibrated in his chest.

“Tu es trop belle,” he murmured, his fingers threading into her hair, not guiding, just holding.

“Thank you,” Avery smiled.

Wrapping his hands around her wrist, Désiré removed them from his waist before pulling her to her feet, his eyes tracing over her body before finding her eyes again.

His palms slid down her arms, warm and sure, coming to rest on her hips. He held her there, his gaze steady on hers. For a moment they were just two bodies breathing in the same quiet space, the only sounds were the soft, subtle whir of the air conditioning and the distant hum of New York City.

Avery looked away first, a faint smile touching her lips as she glanced toward the open bathroom door. "I should..." she began, her voice trailing off into the implication of water and soap and a return to some semblance of order.

He didn't let her go. "No," he said softly, the word not a command but a request. "Not without me."

He kept one hand on her hip as he used the other to guide her toward the en suite, his steps slow and deliberate, making the short distance feel like a ceremony.

The bathroom was a cool, white marbled space with recessed lighting that cast a soft glow over everything it touched. Désiré reached past her to turn on the shower, the water hissing against the tiles before warming into a steady, enveloping steam.

She watched the muscles shift in his back as he adjusted the temperature, his body a silhouette against the rising vapour. When he turned back to her, water droplets already beading on his shoulders, his expression was stripped of any performer's charm. It was just him, looking at her as if she were the only real thing in the world.

“Come,” he said, his voice low in the humid air.

He stepped into the large glass enclosure first, holding out his hand. Avery took it, letting him pull her under the warm cascade. The water sluiced over them, washing away the sweat and the scent of their bodies from earlier, but it did nothing to dim the heat between them.

He took the bottle of body wash from the niche, squeezed a generous amount into his palm, and began to work it into a lather.

His hands were methodical, starting at her shoulders, kneading the tension from her muscles with a firm, knowing pressure that made her sigh. He moved down her back, his thumbs tracing the line of her spine, then around to her ribs, his touch thorough but never clinical.

When his soap-slicked palms smoothed over the curve of her ass, his fingers dipping briefly into the cleft, a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the temperature.

He turned her gently under the spray to rinse the suds away, his eyes following the path of the water. Then he began again on her front, starting at her collarbones. His touch was reverent, lathering over her breasts, circling her nipples until they peaked hard against his palms.

He dropped to a crouch, his hands sliding down her stomach, over the flare of her hips, and along the length of her thighs. When his fingers grazed the inside of her knees, she felt her legs weaken.

He looked up at her from his position on the wet tile floor, water streaming down his face. “You are perfect,” he said, the words simple and devastating in their certainty.

He rose, pulling her into him, their wet skin sealing together. The kiss was deep and slow, tasting of clean water and him. His cock, hard again, pressed against her belly. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, breathing in the steam.

“I do not want to let you go,” he whispered, the confession raw in the small, humid space.

“Then don't,” Avery whispered.

Her words ringing true long after the shower and even after they left the hotel.

Avery sat draped across Désiré as they dined at one of her favourite spots in the city; a quaint, family-run Caribbean restaurant that had belonged to the family for generations.

It was tucked away on a quiet street in the West Village, the kind of place tourists walked past without noticing.

It was quiet, out of the way, and every bit perfect for going completely unnoticed.

The heat from the kitchen carried the scent of allspice and Scotch bonnet peppers through the small dining room, the metallic clatter of pans a familiar, comforting sound.

Avery had her back against his chest, one of his arms wrapped loosely around her waist, anchoring her to him even as she leaned forward to lift her glass from the table.

He watched her, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. The other hand toyed with the stem of his own glass, turning it slowly against the checkered tablecloth.

He seemed utterly content in the silence, a quality she found both unnerving and magnetic. Most people rushed to fill quiet spaces, to prove they were interesting or engaged. Désiré simply existed within them, and even more terrifyingly allowed her to do the same.

Twisting in his embrace, Avery’s hand raised to cup the line of his jaw; turning his head so she could properly look into Dèsirè’s eyes.

His gaze held hers, dark and patient. He didn’t pull away from her touch, but he didn’t rush to speak either, letting the quiet settle between them as the restaurant hummed softly around them. His fingers stilled on the wine glass.

“You look like you have a question,” he said finally, his voice low. The French lilt was more pronounced when he was tired, she was noticing. Or perhaps it was when he felt at ease.

She did. A dozen of them, each more terrifying than the last. They coiled in her throat, a tangle of need and fear. She swallowed, her thumb tracing the edge of his jawbone. “I’m trying to understand what this is.”

“What are your plans for the rest of summer?” he asked softly, turning his head just enough to press a kiss against the inside of her wrist, the contact inescapable.

Outside of fittings for an upcoming fashion month and a few scripts she had to learn before fall came, her schedule had somewhat slowed for the summer season.

“I… I don't have much,” Avery breathed.

Désiré’s eyes didn't leave her face. The silence stretched, comfortable and weighted, until he spoke.

“Give me until then.” He paused, his thumb drawing a slow, absent circle on her hip where his arm rested. “Then you can decide what this is.”

“What about what you decide?” Avery asked quietly.

A flicker of surprise crossed Désiré’s face, as though the question had never occurred to him because, to him, the answer had always been obvious.

“My decision?” He smiled softly. “I made that the moment I asked you to come back to New York.”

She searched his face for any trace of hesitation and found none.

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of you?” He shook his head. “Never.”

“Of… all this?” She gestured vaguely between them. “The distance. Your career. Mine. The headlines. Taylor’s article. Everything that comes with us being seen together.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering her words instead of dismissing them.

“I am afraid,” Dèsirè admitted. “I would be stupid not to be.” His fingers intertwined with hers on the tabletop. “But fear is not a reason to walk away.”

“Prevention might be,” Avery murmured, her voice quieter now. “Can I ask you a question?”

He nodded once.

“Anything.”

She studied him for a long moment, her fingers still laced through his. Around them, conversations drifted between tables, glasses clinked softly, someone laughed near the kitchen. It all felt impossibly far away.

“This is in no way a reflection of you…” she began carefully. “But am I wrong for resenting Taylor?”

“No.” Désiré’s expression didn’t harden. If anything, it softened, his answer surprising her.

“I thought you’d be offended,” Avery admitted. “I thought you’d be angry at me because I fucking hate her for writing that article… I was scared things would get complicated between us. I still am.”

While the article hadn’t named the man on the French squad Avery might have been seeing, it hadn’t needed to. It had been enough to ignite speculation.

Désiré’s gaze remained steady on hers. The low hum of the restaurant seemed to recede completely, leaving only the solid weight of his attention. He didn't pull his hand away from hers.

“If it was about me, you would be angry. It isn’t,” he said, his voice low and measured. “It is about her. And what she is trying to take from you.” He leaned forward slightly, the movement drawing him closer across the small table. “You have built a world where everything is controlled.”

“She violated that,” Désiré finished, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. “So I am not offended. I am not angry with you.”

He signaled for the check, paid in cash, and helped Avery from her chair. The night air in the city was warm, a welcome heat after the coolness of the restaurant.

A sleek black sedan idled at the curb, their driver holding the door open. Avery slid across the cool leather, Désiré following, his hand finding hers again in the dark of the backseat.

The tattoo studio in SoHo was a sleek, clean space smelling of antiseptic and soap. Désiré lay back on the padded table, his shirt off, the lean muscles of his torso taut.

The artist, a woman with intricate sleeves of her own, prepped her machine. The design was elegant script, a single line in French curving along his side. ‘La lumière ne disparaît pas; elle attend.’ The light does not vanish; it waits.

Avery sat on a stool beside him, her fingers laced tightly with his free hand. She watched the needle trace the words into his skin, her own chest tightening with a protective ache.

When he flinched, just once, at a particularly sensitive spot near his sternum, she brought his knuckles to her lips, kissing them softly, her eyes holding his.

When it was done, the artist wiping away the excess ink and applying the clear bandage, Avery felt a wild, uncharacteristic impulse surge through her. She looked at the sterile room, the gleaming tools, the man beside her who had just marked his skin with a promise of resilience.

“I want a piercing,” she announced, her voice steadier than she felt.

Désiré’s dark eyes found hers, curious, but he said nothing as she spoke to the studio manager. A different artist, a man with a calm demeanor, led her to a separate room. Désiré followed, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze unwavering. Avery pulled her T-shirt over her head, and slipped the strap of her bra down, baring her left breast.

The artist explained the procedure, the clamp, the needle. She nodded, her jaw set as she listened intently.

The sharp, singular pain was breathtaking, a bright flashing ache that made her gasp. Through the shock, she felt Désiré’s presence, his passive observation radiating a quiet intensity that steadied her.

He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, just watched as the jewelry was secured, his expression unreadable but utterly focused.

The ride back to the hotel was a blur of city lights and shared silence. In the elevator, Avery leaned into him, her head against his shoulder, the new metal in her nipple a dull, warm throb.

He wrapped an arm around her, his hand splayed possessively over her ribcage. When the doors opened on their floor, he didn’t guide her to his suite.

He simply turned her to face him in the empty, plush-carpeted hallway, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then back to her eyes. The hunger there was plain, but so was the tenderness, a feverish combination that stole her breath.

His mouth crashed down on hers before she could draw another breath, the kiss a raw, silencing claim. He tasted faintly of mint and something uniquely him, a hint of salt and restless heat.

His hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the curve of her breasts, making her arch into him as the new metal in her nipple pressed against the fabric of her bra, a sharp, sweet ache.

He didn't guide her so much as consume her, walking them backward down the hall in a series of stumbling, feverish steps, his tongue in her mouth, one hand fumbling for the keycard in his pocket.

He got the door open without looking, pulling her through the threshold into the dim suite. He kicked it shut, pinning her against it, his body a lean, pressing line against hers. His lips moved to her neck, teeth grazing the skin there, and his hands dropped to her hips, gripping hard.

His mouth was tracing the line of her jaw when the shrill, professional ringtone of her phone cut through the room. It was in the back pocket of her jeans. They both froze. Avery felt the vibration against his thigh. Désiré exhaled, a harsh gust against her cheek, but didn't move.

The phone rang again, insistent. She shifted, reaching for it. He let her go, stepping back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched her pull the device free. The screen glowed with the name of her agent, Lauren. Avery swiped to answer, putting the phone to her ear, her voice breathless but controlled.

She listened, leaning back against the door for support. Désiré stood in the middle of the suite, the lamplight carving the planes of his face, his eyes never leaving her.

She heard the offer: the F1 Miami weekend, a series of appearances for a major watch brand, a PR dream. Dates, logistics, a private jet from New York.

Avery agreed to the proposal with her eyes locked on Désiré’s, when she hung up, the silence felt heavier, charged. She tossed the phone onto a nearby console table. Without a word, she reached for the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, letting it fall.

Her fingers went to the button of her jeans, then the zipper. She pushed them down her legs, stepping out of them, standing before him in just her panties, the new silver barbell catching thr rooms low lighting. The dull throb had settled into a constant, possessive pulse.

She crossed the space between them, stopping just inches from his body. She looked up at him, her expression open, vulnerable in a way that felt terrifying and necessary.

“There is a Formula One race in Miami,” she said, her voice quiet. 'I've been requested for some events. I leave in three days.” She reached out, her fingertips brushing the fresh bandage over his new tattoo.

“Would you like to come with me?”

Désiré looked down at her hand resting lightly over the clear dressing that protected the fresh ink. The skin beneath it was still warm and still tender.

Then he looked back into her eyes, and for a heartbeat he said nothing.

“Miami,” he repeated, almost to himself.

“I know it’s not exactly your idea a quiet.” Avery nodded.

“I do not think Formula One has ever described itself as quiet.” Désiré joked, his mouth curved into a smile.

“No.” She laughed, relief loosening the knot in her chest.

“It is loud. Crowded.” He tilted his head frowning playfully. “Very expensive.”

“Also true,” Avery agreed.

“And you are asking me to come anyway.”

Affairs Of The Heart: A Désiré Doué x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 5

Despite keeping her distance, the mania of the World Cup had spread across the US, making it almost impossible to ignore Désiré.

His calls and messages went unanswered as her own form of damage control as she supported him from afar. Which meant Avery watched it all.

She watched France struggle to impose themselves against an opponent that seemed to dictate every phase of the match. She watched the mounting frustration as possession slipped away, attacks broke down before they could become chances, and every replay seemed to underline just how little control they had over the game.

And when Désiré called her later that evening, there was no trace of the teasing, irreverent man she’d grown used to. Just silence between his words and the quiet exhaustion of someone who had watched a dream disappear within ninety minutes.

There was no command in his voice as he asked her to come to him, only a quiet vulnerability she had never heard from him before. Whatever frustration he’d carried over the weeks between them had been eclipsed by something much simpler.

He didn’t want answers.

He just didn’t want to be alone.

Avery’s flight from Los Angeles landed at JFK a little after five that morning, and as exhausted as she was, the heaviness she carried had nothing to do with the lack of sleep. It had everything to do with the man waiting for her at his hotel.

The streets held a quietness that New York rarely allowed itself. Dawn had yet to surrender to the rush of commuters, leaving the city suspended in that strange hour where delivery trucks outnumbered taxis and traffic lights changed for no one at all.

Avery watched it all through the tinted window of the SUV, her temple resting lightly against the cool glass. Somewhere beneath the skyline, millions of people were beginning another ordinary day, blissfully unaware that for one young man, the world had shifted only hours earlier.

She had watched him lose.

She had watched the cameras follow him long after the final whistle, searching for tears, for anger, for something they could replay until the next headline arrived.

They hadn’t seen what she had heard. Not the disappointment in his voice, nor the quiet emptiness that followed every sentence. It had stayed with her all the way across the country.

The SUV eased beneath the covered entrance of the hotel just as the sky transformed from purple and orange to a pale blue as ribbons of sunlight began catching the glass towers across the cityscape.

The doorman stepped forward before the vehicle had fully stopped, opening her door into the cool Manhattan morning. Avery thanked him quietly, sliding the strap of her Chanel purse higher onto her shoulder before stepping out of the car.

She’d dressed without thinking; black leggings tucked into Chanel rain boots, an oversized bomber jacket, a white T-shirt, and a baseball cap pulled low enough to shade her tired eyes.

It was the sort of outfit she’d worn a hundred times before when she wanted to disappear into a city unnoticed. However, she suspected anonymity had less to do with the clothes than the hour, as the city slowly rose from slumber.

Inside, the lobby's fresh flowers stood impossibly upright in polished vases. A pianist, absent at this hour, had left a grand piano sitting silent beneath an arrangement of hanging lights. Somewhere deeper inside the hotel, coffee beans were being ground, the rich aroma threading through the otherwise clean air.

She crossed to reception, giving the concierge the surname she’d become accustomed to saying only in private, watching as the woman behind the desk glanced at her screen before lifting her eyes with practised discretion.

“He’ll be expecting you,” she smiled politely, sliding a keycard across the marble countertop.

Avery accepted the keycard with a quiet thank you, her fingers lingering around the cool plastic for a moment longer than necessary.

“The elevators are just to your left,” the concierge added softly.

She nodded.

The marble floor reflected the first pale light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the lobby in muted gold. Somewhere behind her, a suitcase rolled across polished stone before disappearing again into the silence.

The elevator arrived almost immediately, quicker than she'd prepared for as she set foot inside.

As the doors closed, the lobby disappeared, leaving only the faint mechanical hum of the elevator and her own reflection staring back at her.

She barely recognised the woman looking back. The baseball cap she wore hid most of her face, but it couldn’t disguise the shadows beneath her eyes or the exhaustion settled across her features.

She hadn’t slept on the flight. Every time she’d closed her eyes she’d seen him standing motionless after the final whistle, hands on his hips, staring at a scoreboard that had quietly torn apart a dream he’d spent his entire life chasing.

The elevator climbed in silence, each floor tightening the knot in her stomach. She wasn’t nervous about seeing Désiré, she was nervous about what seeing him would make impossible to deny.

The doors slid open giving way to the still executive floor, the thick carpet swallowing the sound of her footsteps as she walked towards the suite, the keycard growing warmer in her palm with each passing room number.

When she arrived at his suite, Avery stopped.

The corridor stretched away in both directions, immaculate and impossibly still, interrupted only by identical doors and the soft amber glow of recessed lighting that had yet to surrender to the daylight filtering through the windows at the far ends.

She stared at the number fixed neatly to the door.

She couldn't recall the number of times she’d imagined this; not the hotel, or even the city. Just arriving… to him.

Finally being in his presence after weeks spent pretending that silence was the safest thing she could offer him.

Her fingers tightened around the keycard anxiously.

She’d crossed the country without hesitation, yet standing outside his door, doubt found her all the same. She thought about the possibility of him changing his mind about wanting her near.

For a heartbeat, she remained where she was, her hand still resting on the handle as though opening the door would make everything that had happened over the past few weeks undeniably real.

Then she exhaled.

Slowly slotting the card into the door before twisting the handle and, pushing the door open.

The suite was quiet, not the comfortable silence of an expensive hotel room before the day had begun, but the peculiar stillness that lingered after disappointment had settled into every corner.

The curtains remained half drawn, allowing small streams of early morning light to spill across the floor, illuminating the furniture near the windows and a hoodie lay draped carelessly across the back of a chair.

Avery closed the door behind herself with the gentlest click, removing her shoes and jacket before stepping further into the suite.

“Désiré?” she called softly, in an attempt not to disrupt the stillness of the room.

Her voice barely carried beyond the entrance, and for a moment, there was nothing. Then, somewhere deeper inside the suite, she heard footsteps.

Unhurried, heavy, approaching, until Désiré appeared from the darkness of what Avery assumed to be the bedroom.

He’d changed sometime after they’d spoken.

Gone were the navy training kit and the bright colours that had become synonymous with the French camp over the past month. Instead, he wore nothing more than a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his feet bare against the hardwood floor.

His hair was damp, as though he’d stood beneath the shower far longer than necessary, trying to wash away something that couldn’t be rinsed from his skin.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The room seemed to shrink until there was only the space separating them.

“You came,” he said quietly, not with surprise but relief.

The words were so soft they almost disappeared into the silence between them and Avery felt something tighten beneath her ribs.

”You asked me to.”

His eyes searched hers, lingering as though he needed to convince himself she wasn’t something he’d imagined during another sleepless hour of the night. They moved over her baseball cap, the oversized bomber jacket she’d yet to hang up, the overnight bag resting just inside the doorway.

“You came straight here.”

It wasn’t a question, more so an acknowledgement of fact.

Avery nodded.

Come here,” Désiré murmured.

Avery stepped towards him, dropping her bag beside the armchair where his hoodie lay. The distance between them vanished within three strides, her bare feet silent on the floor.

He didn’t move to meet her, staying where he stood as though his request had anchored him in place. The soft morning light from the window caught the hard line of his jaw, the faint tremor in his bottom lip that he didn’t try to hide. Avery stopped an arm’s length away, close enough to see the tired shadows beneath his eyes.

Désiré reached out, his hand cupping the side of her neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear. The contact was warm, grounding. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes.

“How are you here?” he whispered, his voice rough.

“Because you are,” she answered, the words leaving her before she could shape them into something more polished.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closing. His other hand found her waist, fingers pressing into the soft skin at the small of her back. They stood like that for a long moment, breathing the same air, the only sound the faint hum of the city far below.

Then Désiré tilted his head, his lips finding hers. It wasn’t the desperate, hungry kiss she’d expected. It was slow, deep, and unbearably tender, a silent conversation of relief and apology and need. Avery felt her own control dissolving, her hands rising to his bare shoulders, her fingers tracing the familiar planes of muscle and bone.

He pulled back just enough to speak against her lips, his breath warm. “I fucking need you.”

Avery’s breath caught.

Weeks of distance, of convincing herself that wanting him was something she could outthink, dissolved in an instant. There was no room left for fear, or headlines, or the careful restraint she’d wrapped around herself.

There was only him.

She answered his kiss without hesitation, her hands finding his shoulders as though they already knew where they belonged. The quiet tenderness of it undid her more completely than desperation ever could have.

When they finally drew apart, only enough to breathe, their foreheads remained together.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

He searched her face for a long moment, the pad of his thumb tracing her bottom lip, as though committing every detail to memory.

Then he kissed her once more, slower this time, the morning light spilling around them while the city beyond the windows carried on, blissfully unaware that, inside the suite, two people had finally stopped pretending they could survive the distance between them.

Avery felt the last of her carefully maintained restraint dissolve beneath the warmth of his touch. Weeks of denying herself the simple truth of what he meant to her vanished with every lingering kiss, until there was nothing left to hide behind.

The tenderness of his kiss reached places fear never could. Wanting him no longer felt like something to resist; it felt inevitable.

Her body responded to him instinctively as breathing; her nipples hardening against the soft, contouring cotton of her T-shirt as she felt the warmth of her arousal pool in the crotch of her thong.

Her skin felt alive with an unbearable heat. As Désiré’s mouth left hers, he traced the path his thumb had made with the tip of his tongue, a soft, wet brush that sent a tremor straight through her. He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

He moved lower, his hands sliding up her sides, fingers splaying beneath the hem of her shirt. The kiss he placed at the hollow of her throat was slow and deliberate, his breath hot against her collarbone. She gasped, and the sound lingered in the quiet room.

His hands found the bottom of the soft T-shirt, gathered it, and pulled it up and over her head in one fluid motion. The morning light fell cool and stark across her bare torso. Désiré paused, his gaze heavy on her exposed skin, and Avery felt the sudden, thrilling rush of vulnerability.

He didn’t speak. He bent his head and kissed the slope of her breast, then took her nipple into his mouth, warm and wet and insistent, swirling his tongue around the pebbled peak. Her hips jerked forward of their own accord, a quick, uncontrolled motion, her hands knotting in the thick curls of his bleached hair.

His name slipped out on a choked breath. He worked her with a patience that bordered on torment, switching to the other breast, sucking and licking until she was arching into him, her thighs squeezing together to try and ease the aching pressure building between them.

He finally let her go, rising back to his full height. His eyes were dark, pupils wide. He looked at her, taking in the flush on her chest, and the rapid rise and fall of her ribs.

Désiré’s gaze dropped to her waist, to the form-fitting black leggings. His hands followed, palms sliding down her ribcage and over the soft curve of her hips. The fabric was thin, the heat from her skin palpable.

“Don't disappear on me,” he whispered against Avery’s lips as he lowered his forehead to rest against hers.

His thumbs hooked into the waistband of her leggings, dragging down her thong with it. He lowered them both to her ankles in a single, smooth pull. The morning air in the hotel suite was cool against her naked skin as he sank to his knees before her.

“So beautiful,” Désiré whispered; his fingers tracing the curve of her hips, as their gazes remained locked.

“You are safe with me,” he continued edging closer, his hot mouth ghosting against her stomach as he spoke.

His palms were on her thighs then, spreading her open as he knelt between them. The morning light illuminated the defined muscle of his shoulders, across the tension in his neck as he looked up the line of her body to her face.

She could feel the damp heat of her pussy, the insides of her thighs slick with arousal, as her nipples ached to be touched.

The want she felt for Désiré went beyond physical attraction. It had become something quieter and infinitely more dangerous… Somewhere between Los Angeles and New York, she’d stopped coming because he needed her. She was there because there was no denying she needed him too.

Avery’s eyes searched Désiré’s as he stood on his feet again, his body completely dwarfing hers as she stood naked before him, willing and waiting.

“I trust you. With my body and mind,” she whispered as she reached for Désiré.

Avery’s words seemed to stop the room around them. For a moment, he simply looked at her, as though he wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly. Weeks of unanswered calls, carefully maintained distance, every fear she’d hidden behind silence, they all dissolved beneath the quiet certainty of her voice.

He lifted a hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realised had escaped. His own smile was fragile, almost disbelieving. “You have no idea what that means to me,” he whispered.

“Then show me,” Avery rasped, her voice barely above a breath.

A shudder of air escaped Désiré's lungs. He didn't need telling twice. His hands returned to her thighs, gripping them firmly as he lifted her into his arms, her ankles locking behind his back instinctively.

He carried her to the bed, his muscles tensing under her weight. The comforter was cool against her bare back as he lowered her down, his body following her, all muscle, heat and intention. He settled between her thighs, his hips nudging her wider open.

The head of his cock, flushed and slick with her wetness, pressed against her entrance, a solid, inescapable pressure. He didn’t move. His gaze locked on hers, his expression a raw mix of reverence and predatory focus.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his French accent thick, the command gentle. “I want to see you when I’m inside you.”

Avery couldn’t look away if she tried. Her breath hitched, her whole world narrowing to the point where his body met hers, to the dark intensity in his eyes. She gave a tiny, nearly indistinguishable nod.

He exhaled, a soft, ragged sound, and pushed forward.

The stretch was immediate, a perfect, burning fullness that stole the air from her lungs, as she arched into him, a low moan tearing from her throat. Désiré’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, his jaw tightening, before they snapped open again, fixed on her face as he buried himself to the hilt.

He stayed there, buried deep, his muscles trembling with the effort of keeping still, the tip of his cock kissing against the cushioned flesh inside her that made her toes curl.

“Avery,” he breathed, her name tumbling from his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.

Désiré’s hand slipped between their feverish bodies, his grip harsh as he took hold of her thigh, pinning them open as he rolled his hips into her.

The sound she made wasn’t a word; it was a choked, helpless cry of surrender as he began to move, a slow, devastatingly deep rhythm that seemed to reach the very core of her. His hips set a measured, relentless pace, each thrust punching the breath from her lungs, shifting her up the bed until her head pressed against the headboard.

He watched every flinch, every gasp, every flicker of pleasure that crossed her face, his own control fraying with every roll of his body into hers.

A low, guttural noise rumbled in his chest. His thumb found her clit, pressing and circling in time with his strokes, and Avery’s vision whited out, a scream trapped in her throat as her core coiled, and she widened her thighs by a fraction defying her body's need to tighten.

He pulled back until just the swollen head of his cock remained inside her, a thick, wet seal, and held there, making her feel the ache of his absence, his sweat dripping from his brow onto her collarbone.

Avery whimpered, her hips chasing his, but his grip on her thigh tightened, keeping her still. He let her feel every ridge of him as he pushed back in, agonisingly slow, inch by perfect inch that dragged a slick, filthy sound from between their bodies.

“So deep,” she gasped, her voice wrecked.

“I know,” Désirè growled, his breath ragged, a dark satisfaction present in his eyes as he watched her struggle. He sank all the way in and began a torturous grind, his pubic bone rubbing against her swollen clit with each tiny, deliberate circle of his hips.

Her pussy clenched around him, milking him, and a fresh rush of arousal coated his cock, making the glide obscene. He could feel her essence gathering, the mix of their slickness dripping down the seam of her ass to soak the sheets beneath them. The scent of sex; musky, sweet, and raw filled the air between their mouths.

“You're dripping for me,” he breathed against her lips, the words a hot, possessive claim, as he shifted his angle, driving deeper, and a choked sob broke from her throat as the new pressure brushed a spot inside her that made her vision blur.

He kept the pace devastatingly languid, drawing each thrust out until she was trembling, her nails scoring his back. Every time he pulled back, her body tried to suck him back in, clinging with a wet, desperate grip.

“You don't get to decide for me,” Désiré rasped, his hands finding her hips as he felt her try to arch away from the intensity, the physical translation of her earlier retreat, and he bore down, driving deeper into that wet, clutching heat.

“Not this,” he ground out, hips slamming forward again, pinning her to the bed. Her breath hitched, a sharp inhale that caught in her throat.

Her eyes flew open, wide and dark, meeting his. There was a wild, frantic plea in them, but beneath it, a submission that had nothing to do with surrender and everything to do with want. The fight bled out of her muscles, replaced by a yielding that was more profound than any struggle.

Her fingers, which had been clawing at his back, loosened, smoothing over the sweat-slick skin to cup the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. The kiss was messy, open-mouthed, all tongue and shared breath, and it tasted like salt and desperation.

Outside, New York had fully risen from its slumber as Désiré pulled back just enough to look into Avery’s eyes, a moan rumbling deep in his throat, as the sounds of the city began to grow a little louder beyond the windows.

He was hungry for her; insatiable, driven by lust and emotion, as his hands found her hips, pulling his cock from her and flipping her onto her stomach so quickly she had barely time to react before she felt his hot palm in the middle of her shoulder blades, her face hitting the cool pillow and her spine curving into a deep arch.

“Look at you,” Désiré hissed, his brow knitting together as his hands found purchase on her ass before parting her cheeks teasingly slow, his thumbs spreading her open.

His reply was a low growl as he slid back into her, the angle deeper, more claiming, stretching her until a ragged cry tore from her throat. He leaned over her, his chest hot against her back, and his mouth found the side of her neck, teeth grazing the damp skin.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word vibrating into her flesh with each measured, punishing thrust. He was a machine of pure, focused intent, his hips driving forward with a rhythm that was no longer teasing but claiming; heavy and deep.

Every sense narrowed to the point where their bodies joined; the slap of skin, the wet, obscene sounds, the scent of sex and sweat thick in the air. He hooked an arm under her hips, lifting her higher, changing the angle again, and she felt the head of his cock grind against that spot inside her that turned her cries into a continuous, broken whimper.

“I feel you… my stomach,” Avery gasped, her words dissolving into a cry as he hit that spot again, a direct, targeted pulse of pleasure that arched her spine.

His response was a low groan against her shoulder, his rhythm faltering for a second as her internal clench threatened to finish him. He stilled, buried deep, his breath ragged.

"Non," he commanded, voice thick with strain. "Look into my eyes as you cum, ma belle.”

His command was a line drawn in the heat between them, and Avery’s eyes, glazed with building sensation, fluttered open to meet his own. The look was not of surrender, but of raw acknowledgement, the last polished part of her crumbling away as he began to move again, this time with a faster, desperate tempo.

The sound of his name tearing from her lips was the only permission he needed. He pistoned into her, the bedframe groaning against the wall, and when her eyes locked onto his, he saw the exact second her control snapped. A violent, full-body tremor seized her, her pussy clenching around him in a series of tight, rhythmic spasms that milked his cock with merciless intensity. She cried out, a sound that was half sob, half release, her head falling back against his shoulder.

It shattered his restraint. With a guttural groan that came from his gut, Désiré drove into her one final, deep time, his hips stuttering against her ass as he emptied himself inside her, his own climax a hot, pulsing flood that seemed to go on forever. He held her there, shuddering, as the last waves of their pleasure receded into a heavy, panting stillness.

They stayed like that for long minutes, fused together, his weight still on her, his softening cock still inside her. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city below. Slowly, his arm loosened from beneath her hips, and he eased them both down onto the soaked sheets.

“Please don't pull out, I want you close,” Avery whispered, her voice almost panicked at the thought of their bodies parting.

He kissed her temple, his breath warm on her skin, and carefully withdrew. The loss made her gasp, a hollow ache replacing the fullness. In one fluid motion, he turned her onto her back, her legs parting for him instinctively as he settled between her thighs again.

Désiré’s dark eyes held hers as he guided his cock back to her entrance, the head pressing against her wet, swollen lips. There was no rush this time, only a deliberate, aching pressure as he pushed back inside, filling her slowly until he was fully seated in her warmth once more.

A sigh escaped Avery’s lips, a sound of pure relief, and her hands came up to cradle his jaw, her thumbs stroking the rough stubble there. “Just stay,” she murmured, her hips lifting gently to take him deeper.

He did.

Désiré braced his weight on his forearms, his body a solid warmth sealing her to the bed, their skin slick where it touched.

“I want you,” Avery whispered, their gazes locked as her fingertips traced softly over his shoulders and the top of his back.

The soft light of dawn filtered around the edges of the curtains, painting the room in shades of charcoal and silver. It was after six, nearly seven.

Désiré shifted, his body still intimately joined with hers, and slid one arm beneath her back, the other under her knees. With a smooth, controlled strength that made her breath catch, he lifted her from the mattress, his cock still buried inside her as he carried her across the room.

He lowered them both into the deep, plush armchair that faced the floor-to-ceiling window, the New York skyline a smudged silhouette against the brightening sky. The chair enveloped them, Désiré settling back with Avery cradled in his lap, her legs draped over the armrests. He reached for a small, cream-colored cashmere throw tossed over a nearby ottoman and drew it over their bodies, tucking it around her shoulders and his waist.

Beneath the blanket, their hands found each other's skin; hers tracing the lines of his abdomen, his palm sliding up her spine to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. They kissed, not with the frantic hunger of before, but with a slow, helpless tenderness that felt like drowning in warm honey. Her lips were swollen, his tasted of salt and sleep, and every soft touch of his tongue against hers made her sigh into his mouth.

Their movements were languid, almost sleepy. Avery’s fingertips brushed over the bleached curls at his temple, and Désiré’s thumb stroked the delicate skin behind her ear. The city outside was a distant symphony of sirens wailing and horns honking, but inside the blanket’s cocoon, there was only the shared heat of their bodies and the quiet, wet sounds of their kisses.

Gradually, the kisses grew slower, softer, until they were simply resting their foreheads together, breathing the same air.

Avery’s eyes drifted shut, her head heavy against his shoulder, and Désiré adjusted the blanket higher around her, his own eyelids growing heavy as the steady rise and fall of her chest pulled him under. In the chair, tangled together, they fell asleep.

Avery stirred slowly, her cheek warm against the steady rise and fall of Désiré’s chest.

For a few disorienting seconds she couldn’t remember where she was. The room was quiet, washed in the pale afternoon light filtering through the windows, the skyline beyond no longer softened by dawn but sharp beneath a bright blue sky.

Then she felt him.

His arm rested loosely around her shoulders, the weight familiar now, protective without being possessive. Above her, one of his hands lazily scrolled through his phone, though judging by how little his thumb actually moved, he wasn’t reading much of anything.

“Hi,” she smiled softly against his chest, the insides of her thighs burning as she tried to shift on top of him.

Désiré’s gaze dropped from the phone to the top of her head, before he pressed a kiss there, his voice a low, rough rumble she felt more than heard.

He allowed his phone to slip from his grip onto the bed, shifted her slightly, his free hand smoothing down her spine, the touch possessive and tender. The soreness between her legs was a deep, pleasant ache; a physical reminder of what had taken place between them when words couldn't articulate what their bodies could.

“Good morning,” Désiré drawled.

Avery didn't respond with words. She lifted her head just enough to catch his lips in a slow, soft kiss, her hand coming up to cup his jaw, as he let the kiss deepen, his hand at her spine pulling her closer until she was fully lying atop him.

He broke the kiss first, nudging her cheek with his nose. “Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. “We should order something.”

Avery nodded, her face still buried against his neck.

“Later,” she mumbled, content simply being with him, her weight cradled in his arms.

His hand drifted from her back to her hip, his thumb tracing the curve of bone there before splaying, his grip tightening as he flipped Avery onto her back beneath him.

“You're beautiful,” she whispered, reaching for him so she could pull his body down on top of hers, taking on the weight of him.

He settled over her willingly, letting her draw him close until there was no space left between them. Avery brushed her fingertips through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, studying him in the afternoon light. Without the cameras, the kit, or the expectations, he looked impossibly young.

“You still look sad,” she whispered.

“I am,” he admitted. “But less than I was this morning.”

Silence settled comfortably between them.

“I thought staying away would make this easier,” Avery confessed at last. “If I ignored you long enough, maybe whatever this is would disappear.”

“And did it?”

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “No. It just meant I missed you while pretending I didn’t.”

His expression softened.

“You flew across the country for me.”

“I’d do it again.”

The words surprised neither of them.

Désiré rested his forehead against hers, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the back of her hand.

“You’re not scared of me,” he murmured.

“No.” She smiled sadly. “I’m scared of how much I feel for you.”

He held her gaze, searching it until she stopped trying to hide.

“So don’t run anymore,” he said gently.

Avery nodded once.

“I can’t,” she admitted. “I don’t think I ever really could.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Then…” he whispered, squeezing her hand, “what if we try?”

He glanced toward the skyline beyond the window, sunlight glinting across Manhattan before looking back at her.

’I don’t want to spend my time in Miami pretending I don’t wish you were there…’ ✨🌴

‘the city beyond the windows carried on, blissfully unaware that, inside the suite, two people had finally stopped pretending they could survive the distance between them…’ ✨

‘An act of both freedom and surrender…’ ✨