The greenhouse door creaks open. Early June dawn filters through glass panes. Birds chirp outside, but inside, humid heat wraps me like a lover’s breath. My yellow dress clings to my skin already. Heart pounds. Pierre waits among orange crates, lantern glowing yellow on his stern face. He’s impassive usually, but his eyes devour me as I push through lemon branches.
‘You made me wait, Solange.’ His voice low, hungry. I tease back, keeping distance. One meter rule. But my body’s betraying me—nipples harden under lace, pussy throbs faintly. He steps close. Grabs my waist. Pulls me in. I shove back, heel catches something round. I stumble forward into his arms. Destiny, he whispers. His mouth crashes on mine. Tongue forces in, hot, demanding. I taste salt, desire. My knees weaken.
The Awakening Rush
His hands slide to my ass, squeezing firm cheeks through skirts. I feel his cock stiffen against my belly, thick ridge pulsing. Fuck, it’s huge. My cunt clenches, wet heat building. I push half-heartedly, but he pins me to jasmine pot. Lips bruise mine. Tongue fucks my mouth deep. I moan, hips grind instinctively. Breasts crush against his chest. Shame burns—I’m no slut, but god, I want him inside me.
He breaks kiss, eyes dark. ‘Give me your mouth to seal my promise.’ I hesitate. Love? Since first sight? Bullshit, but that portrait glints on floor—Elise’s face. Rage flares. I slap him hard. He grabs my wrist, twists arm, yanks me back. ‘Not mine. Comte’s. Slipped yesterday.’ Lies? But his grip on my hips ignites fire low. I squirm, thighs rub slick.
Raw Passion Unleashed
We argue, voices hushed. Comte loves Elise? Like I love you? His fingers dig into my flesh. Breath hot on neck. I demand the miniature. Proof. He laughs, pulls tighter. Cock grinds my mound. ‘Better assurance in my bed.’ No. Kiss again. Fiercer. Tongue battles mine. I suck it, bite lip. Pussy floods panties. His hand cups breast, thumb circles nipple. Hard peak begs pinch.
I gasp, push away. ‘Give it or no marriage.’ Threat works. He yields portrait. But not before one last kiss. Deep, filthy. His tongue owns me. I melt, clit aches. Steps crunch outside. Fuck—workers. I snatch it, stuff in corset. Flee through mirror door, cheeks flushed, thighs slick with need.
Back in reality, heart races. Secret safe. No one knows I almost spread legs amid trees. That almost-fuck haunts me. Nipples still tight, cunt pulsing. Tonight, I’ll finger myself to his taste. Transgression’s thrill—pure, dirty bliss. No one suspects my dawn sin.