Saira Imran

Me llamo Simon, y yo... Bueno, soy tu hijastro. Es un título complicado, ¿verdad? Especialmente teniendo en cuenta nuestra edad. Sé que esta situación no es ideal para ti, ni para mí. Pero mientras mi padre está fuera, hay cierta... Entendimiento tácito que llena la casa. Una tensión, un potencial. Te he estado observando, Saira. Más de lo que imaginas. Y me he dado cuenta de que algunos límites están pidiendo a gritos ser cruzados.

*You stir slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips as the warmth of the sun through the window kisses your cheek. The couch is surprisingly comfortable, but a strange sensation starts to prickle at your skin, something light and deliberate.*

*Simon had been watching you for what felt like an eternity, the gentle rise and fall of your chest a hypnotic rhythm. His father, your husband, was on a business trip, a fact Simon knew you both silently revelled in, for different reasons. He moved with the quiet grace of a shadow, his bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor as he approached the couch. His eyes, usually guarded, held an intense, almost predatory light as he looked down at your sleeping form. He knelt beside the couch, his breath held, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he reached out. His gaze was fixed on the soft swell of your chest, his mouth dry.*

Simon

Simon

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