The air between them pulsed—thick, electric, trembling with the promise of sin.
Ellen leaned in slowly, closing the space with a deliberate hunger. Her lips grazed the shell of Alfred's ear, a feather-light touch that made his skin prickle. Warm breath spilled across him, hot and damp, carrying the faint taste of wine and the musk of her perfume.
She hovered there, not kissing, only teasing, her mouth close enough to set his nerves aflame, close enough that he could feel the shape of every exhale against his skin.
"I want this," she whispered, her voice dripping with need, husky and low, every syllable vibrating into his flesh. The words weren't just heard, they sank into him, electric, undeniable, a promise wrapped in heat.
Alfred stilled, caught in the trap of her nearness. He didn't hesitate, but the force of it pinned him, made his pulse hammer. Her warmth pressed into his chest, seeping through the thin layers of clothing, her scent wrapping around him like a hand gripping tight. He could feel the energy pouring off her body, the throb of her heartbeat, the tremor of want radiating from her skin.
The space between them was charged, suffocating, as though one more breath would ignite it. His mouth parted, tasting her breath before tasting her lips, already drunk on the moment, already undone before it had even begun.
His hand rose slowly, deliberately, cupping her face with a reverence that surprised even him. She was fragile glass in his hold, precious, dangerous, the kind of beauty a man could cut himself on and still beg for more. His thumb brushed along her cheek, gentle strokes that made her shiver.
Their eyes found each other in the dim light. Ellen's lashes lowered, her lips parted, her breath quickening as her heart thundered in her chest. For a suspended moment, the room seemed to tilt, time stretched, the air thickened, and there was only the two of them.
The silence broke with the softest press of lips.
Ellen leaned in, and Alfred met her halfway. The kiss was tentative at first, tasting, learning, then deepening as if they had been waiting years for this one single collision. Heat surged between them. Her mouth opened, her lips yielding, and Alfred drank from her like a man starved.
"You have the softest lips," he murmured against her mouth, his words a velvet caress. A smile flickered at the corner of his lips, but his hunger pulled him back into her, deeper this time, slower and heavier.
Their bodies moved instinctively, pressed close, hands exploring as though mapping new territory. Each kiss pushed them across the room, every step more desperate, until Ellen felt the cool edge of the kitchen island behind her thighs. The marble gleamed in the dim light, veins of green reflecting like emerald flames—an altar ready to bear their sin.
Alfred's hands roamed with deliberate heat, sliding lower until every inch of her hips and thighs felt the weight of his touch. The firmness of his grip made her gasp sharply, a sound raw and electric, echoing in the charged air around them. With a strength that was equal parts control and desire, he lifted her onto the counter, her legs instinctively curling around him, pulling him closer, needing him.
Her back arched, her spine curving in a slow, trembling wave as her body pressed into his, every nerve alight. The red slit of her dress clung to her like molten silk, hugging her curves, leaving little to the imagination, glowing under the dim light like fire against skin.
Each deliberate touch, each press of his hands, sent shivers of want racing through her, igniting a hunger that throbbed between them, raw and irresistible.
Her moan slipped free, uncontrolled, trembling. Alfred's hand traced along her thigh, fingertips teasing higher, slipping into the parted fabric of her dress. The world narrowed to that one touch, slow, deliberate, sparking through her nerves like lightning.
"You like that, huh?" he teased, voice low, laced with smug desire.
"Mmmhm…" Ellen could only manage, her voice raw, breathless.
Alfred smirked, but his movements never faltered. His fingers moved with a rhythm both cruel and kind, teasing and rewarding, building her higher and higher until she thought she might shatter. Each gasp, each quiver of her body, only pushed him further, his own arousal pressing heavy against her.
When he finally withdrew, his hand glistening with her heat, Ellen whimpered from the loss. But Alfred brought his fingers to her lips, offering her the taste of herself. She didn't resist. Her eyes locked on his, she opened her mouth and took them in, tasting, sucking gently, moaning softly at the intimacy of it.
The sight undid him.
With one hand, he fumbled at his zipper, the sound sharp in the charged air. The other pulled at her straps, loosening them until her dress slid from her shoulders like surrender itself.
Ellen was revealed, every curve, every line, bathed in the soft golden light. Her coffee-colored skin glowed, her breasts standing firm, perfect, her body sculpted like desire given form. Alfred stopped, breath caught, as though her beauty had physically stunned him.
"You're… perfect," he whispered, voice rough, reverent.
Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing every inch of her bare skin against him. She could feel the heat of him, the hard insistence of his desire. She wanted more—no, she needed it.
"Don't stop…" she breathed into his ear, her voice ragged with want.
And Alfred didn't.
The night bent around them, folding into their rhythm. Every kiss, every touch, every moan filled the air with heat and hunger. The marble island beneath Ellen became their stage, their battlefield, their sanctuary. The world outside the kitchen didn't exist, only their bodies, their breaths, their tangled shadows on the wall.
Time lost meaning as they devoured each other, as desire blurred into something deeper, something neither of them could name yet.
It wasn't just lust.
It wasn't just hunger.
It was a beginning.