Chapter 35: Between Pleasure and Emptiness*
To complete the scene, Astrid, who until then had only been holding him with possessive care, let her lips slowly trail down Aziz’s neck. Her kisses were warm and provocative, as if trying to mark territory. With each touch, her warm breath caressed her son’s skin with an ambiguous tenderness, something dancing between affection and hunger. It was as if her kiss spoke more than words ever could.
"Darling... why is your body heating up so much?" she whispered, bringing her lips closer to his ear. Astrid’s hot breath made him shiver, his body arching slightly between the arms of the two women. The heat, once internal, now radiated through his skin like live embers craving contact.
"I-I... haaah... I-I don’t know..." Aziz replied, his voice shaky and breathless, as if the words were smoke rising from a body in flames. His mind seemed to spin in spirals, each touch a new flame igniting beneath his skin.
Isis, still seated on his lap, intensified the movements of her hips. First slow, sinuous, provocative. Then in faster, rhythmic waves, as if trying to extinguish a fire she herself had lit. Her hips glided with natural mastery, making Aziz’s body respond involuntarily, as if pulled into a primal dance without words. Her body knew exactly what it was doing, and it did so with cruel and delicious precision.
The heat within him grew — a strange, pulsing heat that concentrated in his chest, slowly migrating lower. It was as if a current of energy was being channeled, directed, molded by invisible hands.
Aziz felt something swell between his legs, pressing against the fabric of his clothes. It was as if a living force was awakening there, throbbing, responding to touch, to scent, to closeness. His heart beat in an irregular rhythm, like tribal drums summoning some ancient entity of desire.
Isis, still sucking his blood with a sweetness nearly ceremonial, noticed the change. Her whole body smiled. Not just her lips, but her eyes, her hips, her skin. There was a silent satisfaction in her gesture, an instinctive certainty that she had won something — or someone. It was as if she had broken down his final wall without ever needing force.
She didn’t stop. On the contrary, she kept moving, as if dancing on Aziz’s edge, pressing, pulling back, swirling, molding herself to him. Her breathing blended with his, and the wet sounds of her suction created a rhythm that filled the room with a silent, provocative music. The drops of sweat beginning to form on their skin were visible signs of the fever spreading between them.
Aziz gently clutched Isis’s hair, a reflexive gesture caught between surrender and desperation. His eyes sought Astrid’s over her shoulder, as if begging for explanation — or permission. But the mother only looked at him with an enigmatic smile, a gaze that said: let it happen. There was something ancestral in that look, something that said not everything needed logic — only surrender.