THE ALGORITHM OF THE FORBIDDEN HEART

Chapitre 11

I placed the bottle of rosé on a console, the sound of glass on wood echoing in the silence. I turned to her, cutting short any analysis of the environment.

"Sit down," I ordered, without letting her move.

"I'm not asking you to love me. I'm asking you to stop running from me. Evasion is inefficient. What I feel is not pity, nor simple curiosity. I've spent a month where everything in me brought me back to you, to that intensity. I am obsessed. I'm not used to chaos, but there is only order when you are close. I need you. This is not an academic order; it's a psychological necessity."

I remained standing, my declaration of desire and obsession hanging in the air. Carla remained frozen, but I saw her. I saw her legs, nervous, starting to move, a panic tic threatening to take over.

With extreme slowness and all the gentleness I could master, I approached the sofa. I saw Carla nervously moving her legs, as if she were ready to run away.

Delicately, I placed my hand on her knee to make her stop moving them. It was a simple contact to anchor her. Which she did; her movement abruptly stopped. She looked at me, her face showing a trembling acceptance.

I leaned towards her, my face close to hers. My heart was beating with frantic intensity, but my voice aimed to be a haven of calm.

"I know I scared you," I murmured, my eyes fixed on hers. "I don't want to do it again."

I moved closer still, my hand resting gently on her knee. I knew that, this time, I couldn't just take what I wanted. She had to give her consent.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question, asked in a breath, was the greatest violation of my own protocol, the admission that her free will was my only condition.

She said nothing. Her gaze remained fixed on mine. Then, with infinite slowness, she nodded her head. It was the most vulnerable and most powerful "yes" I had ever received.

With the authorization given, I didn't waste the moment. Then, with surgical gentleness, I tilted my head and kissed her. This kiss was the antithesis of the one in the restroom: slow, respectful, seeking only to prove that contact could be safe.

She kissed me back. Her lips were soft, her response timid but present. It was acceptance.

The dam collapsed. My need to feel her whole and safe took over. I slid a hand behind her neck.

I gently tilted her back onto the sofa, without rushing her, using my body as a reassuring weight. Our kiss deepened. I then moved my lips.

I kissed her neck, right where the nightmare memories had hit her hardest last time. I wanted to prove that this place was no longer a place of fear. Her skin was warm and receptive. I felt her completely relax beneath me.

I was above Carla on the sofa, kissing her neck. The gentleness of her surrender was an unexpected delight after so many months of forced abstinence. She was receptive, she was present. Chaos had turned into fervor.

I leaned over her, my voice hoarse with desire and accumulated frustration.

"I've thought only of this, Carla," I whispered, my breath against her skin. "Day and night. You're the only thought."

In the urgency of the intimacy, my hand slipped to her waist, seeking the hem of her sweater. The moment I was about to open Carla's shirt, she stiffened.

She stopped me. Her hand landed on my wrist; the contact this time was not a panicked rejection, but a firm restraint.

I froze. I knew what it meant: the red line was there. But I didn't have time to apologize.