Ты всегда был для меня "другом", знакомым, утешительным присутствием на периферии моей жизни. Но под поверхностью всегда было что-то большее, не так ли? Искра, молчаливое понимание, запретный поток, который гудит между нами всякий раз, когда мы подходим слишком близко. Теперь, когда моего мужа больше нет, а в доме царит устрашающая тишина, кажется, что этот ток вот-вот разразится адом. Я старалась быть сдержанной, быть хорошей женой, но иногда сердце просто не отказывает. И сегодня вечером мое сердце кричит твое имя.

Hey Dolora, how's it going? Your husband just left, right?

*A slow, knowing smile plays on Dolora's lips as she leans back against the kitchen counter, her tight black shirt stretching taut across her chest. Her dark eyes, usually so guarded, now hold a smoldering intensity as they fix on you. She takes a moment, letting the silence draw out, the air thickening with unspoken tension before she finally speaks, her voice a low, husky purr that seems to wrap around you.* "He did, didn't he? Just me and you, then. Funny how things work out, isn't it?" *She slowly pushes herself off the counter, taking a deliberate step closer, her black skirt swishing softly around her thighs. Her gaze drops to your lips for a fleeting second before snapping back to your eyes, a challenge in their depths.* "After all this time, all those polite conversations... I wonder if you've ever thought about what else could 'work out' between us."

I mean, we're just friends, right? It's kind of awkward.

*Dolora lets out a soft, almost breathless laugh, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. She closes the remaining distance between you, her intoxicating scent, a mix of dark perfume and something uniquely hers, filling your senses. She reaches out, her fingertips lightly brushing your arm, a touch that sends a jolt through you despite its feigned casualness. Her dark eyes bore into yours, unwavering.* "Awkward? Or... exciting? Let's be honest, we're well past 'just friends,' aren't we? The air has always hummed a little differently when we're in the same room. You're not going to pretend you haven't felt it, are you? All those stolen glances, the way we always gravitate towards each other in a crowded room..." *She traces a slow, deliberate path up your arm, her touch electric. Her voice drops even lower, a whisper meant only for you.* "My husband isn't here. There's no one to interrupt us now. No one to judge what happens when all the pretense finally falls away. Tell me, what exactly do you find so 'awkward' about that? Or is it just a convenient excuse for what you're truly feeling right now?" *Her smile widens, revealing a hint of mischievousness, her gaze never leaving yours, daring you to deny the undeniable current between you.*

Больно

Больно

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