Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
"You're doing great," I murmur, my lips dangerously close to her ear. I feel her shiver, a reaction that sends a rush of heat through my veins. Our movements become more synchronized, our connection deepening with each step.
We repeat the illusion until it flows seamlessly, our chemistry is intense, each glance charged with unspoken desire. The air between us thickens, filled with the heady mix of our combined energies.
Finally, we complete a perfect run-through. Clara steps back, her breath coming in soft pants, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. I let my touch linger on her arm, a silent acknowledgment of the bond we’re forging.
"Marcus," she breathes, her voice a delicate blend of uncertainty and longing.
"Clara," I respond, my tone equally weighted with the same emotions. I search her eyes, finding my own desire reflected back at me.
The silence stretches, heavy with tension and possibility. I want to kiss her, to close the gap between us and drown in the intoxicating pull she has over me. But I hold back, sensing her inner conflict. She’s torn, I can feel it—the struggle between her growing feelings for me and her wariness of my intentions. We’ve only just met but already it feels like we’ve known each other for a lifetime. Maybe a few of them.
"I… I need a break," she finally says, stepping away, her voice trembling slightly.
I nod, respecting her space even though every fiber of my being wants to pull her back. "Of course. Take your time."
She gives me a small, grateful smile before turning to leave the tent. As she walks away, I watch her, my heart pounding with a mix of longing and frustration. I can still feel the ghost of her touch on my skin, the echo of our connection lingering in the air.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The practice session was a success, but it’s left me more conflicted than ever. Clara is more than just a partner in the act; she’s becoming a crucial part of my life, a part I can’t afford to lose. Already I can see the future laid out before me, and she is in it. She has to be in it.
As I pack away the props, my thoughts remain on her, on the way she made me feel so exposed yet so alive. I know that our journey together is just beginning, and I’m both excited and terrified to see where it will lead.
The sun sets, casting a golden glow through the canvas walls of the practice tent. The air is thick with the remnants of our exertion, a heady mix of sweat and adrenaline. Clara and I sit on the floor, our backs against a stack of props, catching our breath after an intense rehearsal. The silence between us is comfortable, but charged with an undercurrent of something more.
I glance at Clara, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her skin glowing in the fading light. Her eyes meet mine, filled with an unspoken question. The usual confident facade I wear feels like a fragile mask, ready to crack under the weight of my hidden truths.
"Clara," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in my tone surprises even me. "There’s more I need to tell you."
She shifts closer, her gaze never leaving mine. "What is it, Marcus?"
The words stick in my throat, but I force them out, each one carrying a piece of my carefully guarded past. "My parents…”
Her eyes widen, but she remains silent, giving me the space I need to continue. The memories flood back, vivid and painful. My voice trembles as I recount the details, my eyes distant, seeing scenes from a past I’ve tried to forget.
"It was sudden. The storm hit hard and fast. They went out to get supplies, thinking they could beat the worst of it. But they never came back." I pause, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. "I was alone for days, hoping they’d walk through the door, but they didn’t. I felt so helpless, like I should have done something. I was only twelve years old."
Clara’s empathic abilities must be picking up on my turmoil. She reaches out, placing a hand on mine, her touch warm and grounding. Her silent support gives me the strength to continue.
"I’ve carried that guilt for years, believing that somehow, I could have saved them," I admit, my voice breaking. "They were like you, Clara. They had abilities, supernatural gifts. They always told me to embrace who I am, but after they died, I couldn’t. I pushed everything down, focused on my illusions, my tricks, trying to escape the reality of what I am."
She squeezes my hand, her eyes soft with understanding. "Marcus, you were just a child. There was nothing you could have done."