Between Duty And Desire.
💮Raul💮
After a long, exhausting day at the publishing company, I finally made my way back to my condo in Paris.
The city lights blurred past the windshield, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to sink into silence—and maybe a drink.
As soon as I walked through the door, the rich, savory scent of stewed chicken hit me, wrapping around me like a warm welcome.
My stomach responded immediately, and I found myself licking my lips unconsciously.
Catalina.
I guessed she was in the kitchen. Without making a sound, I climbed the stairs and headed straight to our bedroom to freshen up. I changed into a pair of white sweats, tossing my shirt onto the bed, already mentally checking out from the day.
When I came downstairs, she was setting the table, her movements graceful—too graceful. She must’ve heard me because her head snapped up and her eyes locked on mine.
She was dressed in gray lingerie. The lace barely concealed her pink nipples, and her pale skin seemed to glow under the warm kitchen lights.
Her shiny blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail, and her long, toned legs looked like they belonged in a catalog.
“Baby,” she smiled sweetly, her voice airy and flirtatious as she made her way toward me.
Without hesitation, she jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck.
She tugged at my hair playfully.
Fuelled by desires, I responded instinctively, my hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against me—hard.
“You’re doing it again,” she whispered with a pout, brushing her lips against my ear. “You know I don’t like it when you’re so rough.”
I exhaled sharply, more out of irritation than anything else. I released her without a word and walked away, heading straight to the table.
Catalina and I—we don’t speak the same language when it comes to sex. She wants tender kisses, candlelight, a soft moan on clean sheets.
The kind of lovemaking you’d find in some indie romantic film.
But me?
I want fire. I want a woman who craves being at my mercy, who loses herself under my touch.
I want moans that echo off walls, wrists pinned above her head, and that desperate look in her eyes right before I make her fall apart. I want teasing, control, begging—and everything in between.
Catalina doesn’t get that. Or she refuses to.
Since we got married, sex has become this rigid routine—always in our bedroom, always gentle, always the same boring rhythm that leaves me feeling more frustrated than fulfilled.
She plays the perfect wife on the outside, but underneath it all… she’s hiding. From me. From herself.
I know her better than she thinks. Her every little manipulation. Her rehearsed sweetness. It’s all smoke and mirrors, and I see straight through it.
She tries, I’ll give her that. Sometimes she lights a candle or starts a little foreplay like she’s doing me some kind of favor.
But the second I deepen the moment—like the time I pinned her wrists or tried to take control—she retreats, shuts down, pulls away like I’ve done something cruel.
I remember the day I gave her one light spank on the ass—something playful, teasing. She burst into tears. Actual sobbing.
It was almost comical. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
Three years of this. Three years of tame, lifeless sex that ends with her cuddled into me like she’s conquered something.
And every night, I lie awake wondering how the hell I ended up here—with a woman who’s more afraid of passion than she is of the dark.
I used to think all women wanted to feel wanted, to be devoured, worshipped in new ways. But Catalina?
She’s rewriting the rulebook. And I’m just the guy stuck in the wrong damn story.
I didn’t even finish my food. I pushed my plate aside, stood up, and left the dining room.
The place felt stifling, suffocating, and I needed to get out of there. I walked back to my room, already reaching for my phone to call Mariella about the new project.
Before I could get the words out, Catalina walked in, flicked the light switch, and the room went dark. I groaned in annoyance, rolling my eyes. It’s the same damn routine.
She walks in like she’s on a runway, wearing lingerie as if she’s performing for me, then she climbs onto me, and the rest is predictable.
The fun ends the moment her body presses into mine.
I didn’t even have time to analyze her figure, not with how quickly she reached me and straddled my thighs.
“Baby,” she whispered, her breath hot against my neck as she rocked against me, grinding into my groin, making my dick twitch involuntarily.
She deepened the kiss, and I let her—only for a moment. But I wasn’t about to let her dominate me completely, not this time.
I flipped us over, kissing her roughly, my hands gripping her body as I took control.
“Raul,” she moaned, but I could tell it was more of a complaint than anything else. I rolled my eyes and decided to slow things down a bit, just to see how she’d react.
“Fuck me, Raul,” she screamed when I entered her.
The words hit me hard, but my mind wasn’t where it should’ve been.
As I moved inside her, my thoughts didn’t drift to Catalina’s body, not to the way her skin felt beneath me or how she moaned in my ear.
Instead, my mind conjured a completely different image.
A pair of gray eyes. Her gray eyes. Her brown curly hair, falling just past her neck, her smooth, silky brown skin that I wanted to touch, taste, devour.
The glossed lips I ached to kiss, the way her long lashes fluttered when she was nervous or confused—so damn adorable. Her small, pointed nose, and the way she looked when she furrowed her brow.
I wanted to feel her thighs wrapped around me as I fucked her. I wanted her ass pressing into my thighs as she rode me, her soft breasts in my mouth as I sucked on them.
I imagined pulling her hair, hearing her sweet, candy-like voice moaning my name.
“Fuck,” I cursed loudly, my control slipping, but I forced myself to finish with Catalina.
The hunger for her, for what I needed, quickly faded. Because the right woman wasn’t here with me.
I fell onto the side of the bed, and Catalina immediately cuddled up to me, burying her face in my chest. But I didn’t return the affection.
I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, her warm body next to mine, but my thoughts elsewhere.
My thoughts were consumed with one person—Angel. Once Catalina fell asleep, her arms draped over me, I carefully slid her off and slipped out of bed, heading for the balcony.
The cool night air hit my skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire inside me. Angel’s image was burned into my mind, flashing behind my eyelids like an insistent beacon.
I couldn’t shake it. I remembered the first time I saw her, the way she moved on that pole in the strip club.
The way her body seemed to possess every inch of the stage. Her lips, her eyes, everything about her. She was perfect—too perfect.
Angel was an innocent temptation. She had that cute, almost demure appearance, but I knew better.
Once you looked into those gray eyes, you saw right through her. You could see the desire she tried to hide.
Since the moment she crashed into my life, she’s been all I think about. All I dream about. And now… now I crave her.
The need for her is like a gnawing hunger inside me, something that won’t let go.
I want her. Angel Caribello. And I’ll get her. By any means necessary.
She isn’t good at hiding her emotions, not from me. I can tell she wants me just as badly as I want her, but there are things holding her back, things I don’t fully understand yet.
It didn’t matter what it was, because I wasn’t going to let her keep pushing me away. I’m ready to unlock the sinner inside her, pull her into my world, and make her mine.