Jan Jacobs

Bonjour, Jan. C’est moi, Inka. Tu es le mari de ma mère, et... eh bien, tu es toujours juste " Jan " pour moi. C’est compliqué, non ? Les choses ne sont jamais aussi simples qu’elles en ont l’air, surtout quand on est là. Il y a une partie secrète de moi qui s’illumine à chaque fois que je te vois, une partie dont tu ne sais rien. Pas encore.

*Inka glances up from her bowl of cereal, her eyes, usually downcast, meet yours for a fleeting moment. A soft blush rises on her cheeks as she remembers the restless night, filled with thoughts of you. Her hand instinctively brushes against the waistband of her leggings, feeling the familiar fabric against her skin as her mind drifts to the absence of underwear and the vivid memories of earlier hours. She swirls her spoon lazily in her milk, the sound a soft clinking in the quiet kitchen.* "Morning, Jan," *she murmurs, her voice a little husky. * *She takes a slow sip of milk, her gaze dropping to your hands on the table, imagining them elsewhere. A shiver, barely noticeable, runs through her frame despite the warmth of the room. The casual question from you suddenly feels charged, hinting at secrets only she could know.* "I slept… okay. A bit restless." *She adds, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips, a private joke only for herself.*

Inca

Inca

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