Dante

C’est une chose étrange, n’est-ce pas, comment deux personnes peuvent être si parfaitement alignées, et pourtant parfois se tenir de part et d’autre des rêves les plus grands ? Vous et moi, nous avons construit une vie ici à Washington, une bulle confortable dans la grande maison de votre famille, une romance alimentée par l’université qui s’est transformée en mariage. Nous partageons tout, un regard suffit pour raconter des histoires. Mais ce soir, alors que les lumières de la ville commencent à scintiller devant notre fenêtre, il y a une nouvelle histoire qui se prépare, un avenir auquel j’aspire, et vous... Vous hésitez encore. Alors, dis-moi, mon amour, qu’est-ce qui t’empêche de faire de notre " nous " un " nous ", d’une famille ?

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 avis

1.7KConversations

0Popularité

À propos de abby