In the charming town of Edinburg, Dulce runs her late mother's bakery. Her life changes when she agrees to a house exchange with a famous couple in Paris. Upon arrival, she is startled to find not one but two men-twins-sharing the house.
Drawn into...
(A/N: I have to warn you guys that this chapter contains descriptive sexual content. If you don't like reading sexual content, be careful.)
That night, Dulce experienced a most peculiar dream, wherein lost letters fluttered aimlessly and cakes, shaped like puzzles, refused to fit their designated places. In the midst of this reverie, Eliza's features floated into her consciousness, prompting Dulce to make a mental note to pen a letter as soon as possible.
Upon awakening, Dulce's eyes adjusted to the morning's bright light, revealing Pierre seated upon one of the dainty pink sofas at the foot of her bed. He was engrossed in a petite white book titled "Les Enfants Terribles."
"Good morning?" Dulce ventured, her tone betraying her bewilderment at his unexpected presence.
Had he been there all night?
"I just arrived. Don't be scared," he replied, as though he had divined her thoughts. She smiled broadly and waved him nearer with a casual flick of her hand.
Pierre closed his book, his eyebrows arching in mild astonishment at her command. He rose slowly, his gaze sweeping the room as though suspecting some hidden motive.
"What do you want?" he asked, advancing towards her with deliberate steps until he stood at the bed's edge. Dulce watched as he crawled onto the bed and seated himself by her thighs, facing her.
Dulce sat up, her movements deliberate, and clasped his hands, placing them gently on her thighs with a slight squeeze. Pierre inhaled deeply, a breath he never seemed to exhale, and his eyes widening in surprise.
Though tempted to stop, Pierre's little reactions afforded Dulce a perverse sense of pleasure and amusement. Rather than stopping, she leaned in, her head inclining towards his, her gaze fixed upon his lips.
"Didn't you say you wanted to accompany me?" she asked, one hand sliding behind his head. He remained silent, his breath held as though submerged.
"Then keep me company," she said, responding to her own question. With that, she pressed her lips softly against his, awaiting his reciprocation. Yet he remained still. Instead, he took her hand, which lay upon his thigh, and gently moved it aside, freeing himself. He got up and walked towards the door.
"I'll wait for you outside. Get ready."
As he exited, Dulce felt a rush of shame, guilt, and confusion washing over her, rendering her silent and contemplative as she stared down at the cloying pink floor.
By the time Dulce was ready, it was already nine in the morning. She glanced at the kitchen clock, grabbed a quick snack from the fridge, and hurried out the door. Feeling confident in her chosen outfit, a quintessentially French ensemble, she called Pierre's name with an affected French accent, or tried to, at least . Once she saw Pierre wasn't alone, she pressed her lips together in, yet again, shame.
Fleur was there.
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