Charles Leclerc One Shots

Desire is a strong feeling 🍑

Summary: Monesgaque Night with the one and only Charles Leclerc. She and he have been friends for a long time, but they have feelings for each other... One night can change everything. 

I hope you'll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section!

I'm open to requests.

Thank you, and Enjoy!

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

Warning: Smut +18!

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The music was nothing but a thud in her ears. Her head was spinning. She could no longer remain in this room, among all those people before whom she had to be irreproachable, to show the image of a joyful, dignified and haughty girl. It was too much for her. She was suffocating. With a sudden gesture, she placed the glass of fruit juice that she was holding in her hand, reversing somewhat its contents which she had not touched. And, without a look behind her, she quickly runs away in the dark Monegasque night, the sound of her shoes rippling off the concrete in her run.

She stormed open the door of her house and rushed outside to her bedroom balcony.

Air. was all she needed.

She leaned against the icy stone balustrade. She removed the comb, holding her hair and let it fall down on her shoulders. Her fingers clenched on the ledge while her gaze carried off to the moon, shining in the sky and reflecting in the dark waters of the sea. The air was hot, almost suffocating. She closed her eyes and carried her hands to her throat, tending to calm her pulse beating frantically. The young woman was oppressed, her irregular breathing disturbing the silence of the night.

Constantly, the images of Charles dancing with Charlotte troubled her mind. She was nauseous. She saw him laughing, having fun, bending over to slip her words into her date's ear. She reviewed his presence, his elegance and his proud and confident posture. Throughout the evening, he had not once looked at her. He had completely ignored her, not caring about her presence. He had not even granted her the dance he had promised her a few days earlier. She had remained in her corner while her friends were turning to the sound of the music in the centre of the café, and Charles was nonchalantly chatting with, no doubt, one of her innumerable admirers, who was not concerned about her friend. Tears of helplessness had beaded in the corner of his eyes: She felt ridiculous in her blue dress of night blue velvet embroidered with silver among all these women adorned with resplendent jewels and flamboyant dresses.

She did not understand the indifference of her friend and the way he treated her. One day he cared, and the other was cold, cruel and distant.

Tonight, when she had seen Charles put his lips on Charlotte's cheek in a tender and intimate gesture, her heart had missed a beat. All it took was this simple movement to squeeze her stomach and make her feel sick. It was enough to break her countenance and to spread suffering in her veins like an invisible poison.

"Bella."

She froze in surprise and fear and stiffened instantly. She did not need to turn around to know the identity of this deep and resounding voice with an ardent tone. The last person she would have liked to see at that very moment. Her belly became knotted.

Charles slowly moved closer to her until he was only a few inches behind her back. She couldn't help but hold her breath. The closeness to her friend troubled her more than she should. She had reached a point where she apprehended every exchange with him. Every encounter disturbed her to the highest degree. She had the impression of being a prisoner of the acts and gestures of the Monegasque so much she feared them, of being poisoned by this lack of attention to this resentment so much he afflicted her.