Can't Get Over it

"You're my mother's husband, Abi. Understand."

Not knowing how many times Moreau reminded Abihirt. There never seemed to be a day when she had to stop. Here, in one humid room, having to face even the saddest of despair, but by all means Moreau tried to take the bravest resolve, after some silence unfolded following the man's mouth that was still so close there.

Tendrils of warm breath tried to seduce the recesses of her neck. Moreau swallowed harshly— not wanting to give in to the situation, and slowly... stealthily reached out so that the man's chest would not ambush the need to breathe.

There was no denying that Abihirt was like an ancient artifact, so hard and solid when asked to leave. There was no reply, in fact it seemed the man was only interested in watching the worry creep around Moreau's shoulders. What kind of beautiful impression could one imagine? She wondered.

Irony. Only to find that Abihirt was not exactly filled with contentment. Suddenly the man's two hand