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I collapse onto the bed, sinking into its plush comfort. Turning my head, I open the nightstand drawer, my fingers finding the stack of carefully folded letters, tangible reminders of this ongoing chess match between Damien and me. I pull one from the middle, smoothing it out on the bedspread. The familiar scrawl greets me, and I can't help the small flutter forming in my stomach.
Reading his letters is like hearing his voice for the first time, over and over again. Every curve of the script, every word chosen with intention, is unmistakably Damien. This one is no different. Yet, as I skim through the lines, a shift in tone grabs my attention, one I must have missed the first time I read it. There’s a subtle suggestion, a playfulness, even a hint of seduction.
Perhaps, in a different world, our paths would've crossed in a sunlit cafe, and you'd have looked up from your book to find me watching you. What would you have done, Mariya?
The lines blur as I feel a warmth spreading through me. I bite my lip, rereading the words, letting the implications settle. The letter is layered, teetering between the innocent and the intimate. I can almost hear the teasing lilt in his voice and feel the weight of his gaze, and the sensation is maddeningly intoxicating.
I shake my head, trying to chase away the growing heat in my cheeks. It’s ridiculous. We're caught in a game of cat and mouse, and yet his words hold a power that I can’t ignore. Each letter from him is like a puzzle piece—a glimpse into his mind, an invitation to unravel more.
My fingers linger on the crisp edges of the paper as another line catches my eye. Would the shy blush gracing your cheeks betray the storm of thoughts running wild beneath those deep-set eyes? Would you have been tempted to indulge in a stolen moment with a stranger, our secrets whispered only to each other?
The weight of his words carries an intensity, drawing me into a world of hushed conversations and lingering glances. It's surreal to think of how mere words on a page can make my heart race. The sensation is heady, and I realize with a start that my hand has naturally gravitated to the warmth between my thighs, seeking relief from the mounting tension.
Gently, my fingers slip beneath the delicate fabric of my panties. Each gentle touch conjures up vivid imagery of that hypothetical café encounter. The atmosphere grows charged, thick with anticipation. I imagine our eyes locking, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. The din of the café around us fades, replaced by the beat of our entwined hearts.
The thought of slipping away, surrendering to the pull of our attraction, is deliciously tempting. The café restroom, usually so mundane, becomes a clandestine rendezvous point. I can almost feel the cool tiles against my back, his warm breath on my neck, and the urgency of our bodies pressed together. I imagine his hand on my breast, the other pushing my panties aside as he drives his manhood into me.
A rush of pleasure surges through me, tightening my core. My breaths grow shallow, the fantasy merging with the sensations I'm creating, amplifying the intensity. With each imagined touch, I lose myself further, the world around me blurring. I imagine him bucking hard, filling me over and over. Then I imagine him erupting inside, pulsing, throbbing as he drains.
I teeter on the brink, the culmination of my self-induced pleasure and the weight of Damien’s words pushing me to the edge. A rush of heat engulfs me as I continue to finger myself, my body trembling with the force of my release. The afterglow leaves me breathless and spent.
A sharp knock ripples through the silence of my room, cutting the afterglow short. The sudden intrusion jars me, a sharp contrast to the cocoon of sensuality I'd wrapped myself in just moments ago. My heart jolts as I recognize the voice from the other side of the door. "Miss Mariya, it's Oskar. Get dressed. We're going out."
Caught off guard, my movements are clumsy as I quickly pull myself together. The notion of almost being discovered lends an awkward haste to my actions. I scramble to my feet, fix my disheveled clothes, and check my reflection to ensure no tell-tale flush remains.
Slipping on a light cardigan, I head to the door, pulling it open just a fraction. Through the crack, I see Oskar's stoic face. His eyes give away nothing, yet there's an air of anticipation about him.
"You might want to dress a bit more presentably," he suggests, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.
The statement stings just a bit, but I quip back, "Are you my personal stylist now?"
A shrug is his only response. "Just relaying the boss's orders."
With a roll of my eyes, I close the door and make my way to the wardrobe. Selecting a knee-length dress, I remove the clothes I’m in and pull the dress over my head with an undercurrent of impatience. The intrigue of where Oskar might be taking me gnaws at my mind.
Once satisfied with my appearance, I step out to find Oskar waiting patiently, leaning against the hallway wall. He straightens up, taking in my ensemble with an approving nod. Without a word, he turns, guiding the way to the car parked outside.
The vehicle hums to life, and we head away from the mansion, the scenic route unfurling before us. The gentle sway of the car and the distant chirping of birds are almost enough to lull me into a sense of calm. But my mind refuses to rest. Oskar remains reticent, giving away nothing.
Endless thoughts swirl in my mind. Is this another of Damien's unpredictable whims? An impromptu date or a task he needs me to handle? The not knowing gnaws at me. With every turn and every intersection we pass, my curiosity heightens.
The mansion, long since faded in the distance, is replaced by unfamiliar buildings and bustling streets. I feel genuinely unsure of what lies ahead and the very unpredictability of it all sends a thrill down my spine.
Where on earth is Oskar taking me?
The car halts smoothly in front of an upscale restaurant whose understated elegance speaks volumes. But it's not the place itself that captures my attention. There, standing by the entrance is the last person I'd expected to see.
Helena
My sister.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, it feels as though the world stops spinning. We rush to each other, her heels clicking against the cobblestone. Our embrace is tight and fierce, and every ounce of longing from the time we’ve been apart pours into it.
“Mariya…” Her voice trembles as she pulls back. She holds my face between her hands, tracing the contours to ensure I’m real. Tears shimmer in her eyes, matching the ones brimming in mine.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to whisper, still in shock, every emotion tangled.
She smiles through her tears, shaking her head. "That's something I'd like to ask you."
