Time seemed to fold within that house. The hours trickled down the walls with slowness, and the day, no matter how bright, never truly seemed to dispel the night. Everything there breathed desire. Even the silence had a taste.
On the third night, when Athos appeared in my room, I no longer pretended resistance.
My body recognized him before my eyes saw him. It was enough to feel the sound of his footsteps in the hallway for my n*****s to harden beneath the silk, for the lower part of my belly to contract in anticipation. I was becoming addicted to that state between touch and its absence, to that tense space where waiting turned into combustion.
He said nothing at first. He just entered. Watched me for a few seconds—I was sitting in the armchair, legs crossed, the robe slightly open, re
