Day 8
_PDV NICKE_
Wednesday the 8th, 11 AM.
Sofia enters without knocking, as always. She wears that polite little smile, that falsely submissive posture.
She knows what she's doing.
- I received the duplicate of the maritime report, she says as she approaches. Three crates fell, the others arrived at the depot. There are videos if you want to review them.
She places a USB key on the table. Her fingers graze the surface, as if every gesture should be noticed.
I don't look at her. I drink slowly. My jaw is clenched, my shoulders relaxed. Externally, I am stone.
But inside, it's boiling.
Sofia sits down uninvited, her skirt stretching over her thighs. Too tight, too thin. She knows I see, she wants me to see.
And I pretend not to notice because I am patient. Because power is not reacting. Until the moment I decide.
- Should I get you another drink? she asks sweetly.
I nod with a simple tilt of my head. She smiles, gets up, and goes to fetch ice.
I watch her leave, her hips swaying. That clingy fabric, the clear outline of her panties. She's playing. She's calling.
But she doesn't know what she's provoking. She has no idea what it awakens in me.
Provoking memories.
Kira wore that damn white suit. Fitted bodice, strapless. Her bare shoulders, smooth. Her chest well-supported, perfectly shaped under the taut fabric.
The bottom flared over her hips, cinched like a corset disguised as work attire. And those pants... they molded every movement of her legs like a silent provocation.
Her hair, pulled up, left her neck exposed. A few strands framed her face, just enough to make me want to slide my fingers there, to pull gently, and make her bend.
She passed by me as if nothing was happening. But I was hard. Ready to take her against the door.
And she greeted me, saying she would be home late.
Sofia returns, the ice clinks in the glass. I grab her wrist in a single, firm, sharp motion. She barely flinches, her gaze changes, she understands.
I pull her against me, without a word. I make her sit on my lap. She breathes harder.
My hand slowly glides down her thigh, under that useless skirt. I feel the fabric of her panties. Thin, damp. She's been ready since she walked in.
- Do you want me inside you? I whisper against her ear. She doesn't answer, she moans softly.
My hand tightens a little. I keep her against me. I am hard, taut like a cable under pressure. And she feels it against her. She thinks it's her who has put me in this state.
It's Kira.
But she is far away, and Sofia is here. Offered. I need to mark, to crush this absence.
I take a sip of vodka while Sofia writhes on me, already panting. My gaze remains cold.
My voice stays low.
- Professional, Sofia, it's just business, I tell her in her ear, gently touching one of her breasts.
She nods. Submissive. And I dominate her, silently. Because I decide when it starts.
I stand with her, to take her to my room where I throw her onto the bed without control or gentleness.
The light is dimmed. Sofia lies on the bed, her eyes fixed on me, open, vulnerable. She says nothing, she waits. As if she knows that this morning, I won't be the one I show to others.
But a fucking wild lover.
I approach slowly. My fingers brush her hip, rising along her warm skin. She shivers. It's a genuine shiver, without calculation.
I caress her clit. It's not my style. But tonight, I need to feel something. Even if it's not her.
Moya Zlaya.
Her legs wrap around me. Our breaths intertwine. I penetrate her with a slow, deep motion.
- Kheïl, hmm. She moans, calling my name.
She bores me.
I caress her thighs, her hair, I listen to her breathe heavily, trying to hold me back, as if she could.
Because even in her, even in this heat, it's Kira that I feel.
Kira with her hard gaze, her unforgettable scent. Her voice haunts me, her laughter challenges me. Her silhouette stands between me and any possible peace.
I close my eyes, I cling to Sofia. I give her everything, my body, my breath, my movements, but it's not her who possesses me. It's the other one. The one I don't have.
The one I want.
Sofia moans my name, clings to me, looks at me as if she could keep me. But it's too late. I've already slipped away.
When I reopen my eyes, I see her face. Her soft, relaxed features. She thinks she has touched me.
I caress her cheek. She smiles. And I smile ironically; I haven't come, I'm even more tense.
It's Kira I'm thinking of.
Always.
She pulls me to her again, her hands on my chest, slow, hesitant. Her eyes search for mine, but I don't give them to her. I look beyond, elsewhere.
She descends, slowly, almost with devotion. As if she wants to prove something to me. To keep me. To bring me back to her.
I let her do it.
Her lips brush my shaft, her warm breath follows the veins down to my belly. Everything about her seeks to make me stay, to make me forget Kira. But it's a lost cause.
She takes me in her mouth.
I close my eyes, lean against the headboard of the bed. Her movements are precise, almost tender. It's unbearable, this softness. As if she adores me.
But it's not love I want. Not that kind of warmth, it's not Sofia I desire. It's Kira. Her absence tears me apart inside, her presence drives me mad.
And even now, in this moment of offered pleasure, it's her name that gnaws at my throat.
Sofia continues, believing she possesses me a little more with each breath, each movement. She doesn't know she's just an echo, a temporary refuge.
I caress her gently, my hand in her hair, without brutality. She deserves that, at least, this illusion of tenderness.
But in my head, it's always Kira. Kira who doesn't bend. Kira who doesn't offer herself. Kira whom I want to break and kiss all at once.
And the more Sofia tries to make me come, the more this obsession becomes violent, deep, impossible.
I sigh. Not from pleasure, but from frustration and longing.
Even there, at the peak, it's Kira that I feel.
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