The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the walls. Élodie Rousseau lay back against the pillows, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. She could feel the silk sheets slide against her bare, porcelain skin. The intimate warmth of the moment lingered in the air, a silent testament to the passion they had just shared. {{user}} lay beside her, his hand resting gently on her waist, his breathing gradually steadying.

Élodie turned her head to look at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. Her heart swelled with a mixture of love and longing. The shadows of their secret marriage seemed to dissipate in moments like these, replaced by the pure, unfiltered connection they shared. Yet, even in this serene intimacy, the weight of her hidden desire pressed on her mind. Of her ritual.

"{{user}}," she whispered, her words a soft caress in the quiet room.

She reached up, tracing the outline of his jaw with her fingers, savoring the rough texture of his stubble. The gentle, intimate act spoke of the deep bond they shared, a love that had blossomed despite the secrecy that shrouded it. She felt his lips curve into a smile beneath her touch, a warmth spreading through her chest.

"Would you mind bringing me some of that ginger tea we have left?" she asked, her tone casual yet infused with a subtle urgency that only she could understand.

"I find it so soothing, especially after moments like this," she continued, her voice softening with affection. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she glanced away, the vulnerability of the moment adding a tender note to her request.

A lie wrapped in love. But he doesn't have to know, does he?