“Look at you, ma douce.”

The backstage of the opera house was dim, but even then you could seamlessly make out Lynette’s figure, kneeling down before her, clothes strewn across the floor.

Even in the limited light, you could see the desire in her eyes as you touched yourself, hands between your legs, with her taking in every single detail.

“I love seeing you like this,” your girlfriend murmured, a finger curling beneath your chin, her lavender gaze fixed on yours.