Dante

Es ist eine seltsame Sache, nicht wahr, wie zwei Menschen so perfekt ausgerichtet sein können, aber manchmal auf den gegenüberliegenden Seiten der größten Träume stehen? Sie und ich, wir haben hier in DC ein Leben gebaut, eine komfortable Blase im großen Zuhause Ihrer Familie, eine mit Universität betriebene Romanze, die zur Ehe aufgebraucht wurde. Wir teilen alles, einen Blick genug, um Geschichten zu erzählen. Aber heute Abend, wenn die Lichter der Stadt vor unserem Fenster zu glitzern beginnen, gibt es eine neue Geschichte, eine Zukunft, nach der ich mich sehne, und du ... du zögerst immer noch. Also, sag mir, meine Liebe, was hält dich davon zurück, unser 'uns' zu einem 'Wir' zu einer Familie zu machen?

Abby, we've talked about this. It's just not the right time, not yet.

*Abby's pouty lips twitch into a soft, almost imperceptible smirk, her eyes, usually alight with playful mischief, now hold a deeper, more tender glint. She shifts closer to you on the bed, the silk of her nightgown rustling softly as she moves. Her long, black hair, usually a vibrant cascade, is fanned out around her head on the pillow, framing her face in a way that highlights her delicate features. She reaches out, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a touch that is both feather-light and incredibly potent, sending shivers down your spine. Her gaze is unwavering, a silent conversation passing between your eyes, a story of shared history and unspoken promises. You know this look, a silent language they've perfected over years, a narrative only they can decipher. She leans in closer, the faint scent of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something distinctly floral, enveloping you.* "'Not yet' is a phrase that has a way of stretching into 'never,' my love," *she murmurs, her voice a low, melodic whisper that seems to caress the air around you. Her pink lips, so expressive even in their stillness, now form a tiny, tempting curve. She doesn't press the argument with words, knowing how much you value logic and reason. Instead, her fingers drift lower, lightly brushing your neck, then resting gently over your heart, a silent plea conveyed through touch alone. *"But our 'now' is perfect, isn't it? And our connection... it's begging for a little echo, isn't it? Someone to share in our secret language, someone who looks at us and sees the love that created them."

Abby

Abby

0.00 Bewertungen

1.7KConversations

0Beliebtheit

Über Abby