Anissa busied herself in the kitchen, determined to impress Clyde with her culinary skills. The aroma of roasting vegetables and sizzling meat filled the air, a testament to her efforts.
Meanwhile, Clyde and I engaged in a conversation about my acting career, his interest genuine.
"Your talent's wasted in those trivial roles," he said, his eyes locking onto mine.
His intense gaze made me shift uncomfortably, my skin prickling.
"I appreciate your concern," I replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.
Anissa approached, bearing a tray with water and glasses.
"Clyde, would you like—"
The tray slipped from her hands.
Water splashed onto me.
Clyde's expression darkened.
"Anissa, watch what you're doing!" he snapped.
I hastily grabbed a napkin to dry myself.
Anissa's eyes welled with tears.
"Sorry, Dahlia," she whispered.
As she fled, Clyde's gaze returned to me.
My skin prickled.
His stare lingered on my damp gown.
The fabric clung to my body.
My nipples hardened.
I hadn't worn underwear today.
The gown's sheer material betrayed my body's response.
Clyde's eyes seemed to burn with awareness.
My face flushed.
"Let's get you changed," he suggested.
His voice low.
Husky.
I nodded.
Clyde's hand brushed mine.
A spark.
Unwelcome.
Unwanted.
Anissa's voice trembled as she announced, "Dinner's ready."
We moved to the dining room, Clyde's criticism beginning immediately.
"Overcooked vegetables," he said.
"Too much salt," he added.
Anissa's face fell.
I frowned.
"Clyde, it's alright," I intervened.
"Anissa tried her best."
But Clyde continued.
"Presentation's sloppy," he said.
"Flavors don't mix well."
Anissa's eyes welled.
"Clyde, please," she whispered.
But he didn't relent.
I placed a hand on Anissa's arm.
"Let's just enjoy dinner," I urged.
Clyde's gaze locked onto mine.
A flash of annoyance.
But he said nothing.
The meal progressed in strained silence.
Anissa, visibly disappointed, excused herself to visit her aunt, leaving Clyde and me alone in the echoing silence.
As I prepared to head upstairs, Clyde offered his arm, his eyes filled with concern.
"Let me help," he said, his voice gentle. "You might trip."
I accepted, his hand supporting mine, sending shivers down my spine.
We climbed the stairs together, the tension between us palpable.
At my door, Clyde turned to leave.
But as I shifted, the hem of my dress caught on the door handle.
"Wait," I said, panic rising.
I tried to pull it free.
The fabric tore.
The one-piece dress slid down.
Leaving me exposed.
No bra.
No panties.
My face flushed.
Clyde's eyes widened.
Frozen.
His gaze roamed my bare skin.
I felt vulnerable.
Exposed.
A flutter in my chest.
"Clyde," I whispered.
His eyes met mine.
A spark felt again.
Unwelcome.
Unwanted.
Clyde's eyes still locked on mine, the air thick with tension.
He stepped closer.
His lips claimed mine.
Hungry.
Demanding.
I melted into his kiss.
His hands roamed my bare skin.
Sending shivers.
As I stood there, my lips still burning from Clyde's fervent kiss, I felt the weight of my betrayal settling in. His passion had ignited a fire within me, but it was a flame that threatened to consume everything I held dear.
My sister, Anissa, flashed before my eyes - her pain, her heartache, and her fragile trust shattered the spell. I remembered the tears she'd shed, the sleepless nights spent worrying about Clyde's indifference.
I pushed Clyde away, my voice barely above a whisper. "Stop, Clyde. Please."
Clyde's eyes, once ablaze with desire, now blazed with confusion. "What's wrong, Dahlia?" he demanded, his chest heaving with unspent passion.
I took a step back, my heart racing. "Anissa," I whispered, her name a plea and a reminder. "My sister. Your wife."
Clyde's expression crumpled, reality dawning like a cold dawn. He stepped back, his eyes filled with torment.
"Dahlia, I—" he began, but I interrupted.
"Don't, Clyde. Just leave. Now."
Clyde's face twisted in anguish, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like a death knell.
I stood alone, shaken and guilty. Torn between desire and loyalty. Between the past and the present