Celeste’s Desires and Her Repressed Feelings for Ethan
Celeste lay stretched out on the massage table, her mind and body seemingly existing in two completely different worlds. The strong hands working over her shoulders, gliding slowly down her back, were meant to relax her, to release tension—but instead, they awakened something deeper. A tension she wasn’t sure she wanted to let go of.
Because no matter how much she tried to clear her thoughts… Ethan was still there.
Beside her, Elizzia continued talking, her voice smooth and unbothered. But Celeste’s attention wavered, fragmented by the slow, deliberate movement of the masseur’s fingers trailing from her spine to her lower back, pressing into the soft curve of her waist.
“You feel like Ethan is slipping away from you, don’t you?” Elizzia mused, her own eyes fluttering closed as her massage deepened.
Celeste’s eyes snapped open at the words. The hands moving across her back suddenly felt like something else. Something that stoked the jealousy simmering just beneath her skin. Yes, Ethan was pulling away. And that was unbearable.
“He can’t pull away from me,” she said, carefully controlling her voice.
The masseur’s hands drifted lower, skimming over the firm muscles of her back, grazing the delicate arch of her waist. Celeste inhaled sharply, her lashes lowering, her lips parting ever so slightly. Ethan belonged to her—just as much as she belonged to him. And yet, here she was, trying to find comfort in another’s touch.
Elizzia turned her head slightly, catching the faintest flicker of tension in Celeste’s expression. The jealousy was showing, even if Celeste didn’t speak it aloud.
“Celeste, Ethan is your son.”
The words hung in the air like a blade. Celeste’s back tensed. The masseur hesitated for just a second before deepening his pressure, coaxing her muscles to loosen once more. She clenched her teeth. That word. It was always a chain around her. Son. But when she thought of him… She didn’t always feel like a mother.
“He is mine,” she murmured, voice low, almost possessive.
Elizzia understood immediately. The jealousy. The ownership. The fear of losing control over him.
“Celeste, Ethan is a man now. He’s going to have other people in his life. Are you ready for that?”
Celeste barely registered the words—because just then, she felt the masseur’s hands linger a little too long at the dip of her back, fingertips grazing the curve of her hip. For a moment, the desire that flared inside her didn’t belong to this stranger’s touch. It belonged to Ethan. Had he really changed? Or was it only now—when his attention had begun to turn elsewhere—that she was starting to realize it?
“I will do whatever it takes to remind him who he belongs to,” she whispered, her eyes slowly opening. The masseur’s hands continued their slow, deliberate movements. But Celeste’s mind was no longer here. It was somewhere else. With Ethan.
Celeste held her breath slightly at the warmth of the hands spreading across her back. As the masseuse increased the pressure, gliding down both sides of her spine, it should have completely relaxed her, but instead, it only deepened the chaos in her mind. Ethan. There was a truth Elizzia didn’t know. He wasn’t just her “son.” He belonged to her. Ethan knew it too. He knew it better than anyone.
Celeste’s mind suddenly drifted back to that night. The first touch. Ethan’s gaze… Even before everything, those eyes pierced right through her. At first, she thought it was an illusion. Perhaps just a fleeting illusion… But she could never forget how Ethan had touched her that night—how possessively, how desperately he had reached for her. When Ethan’s strong hands had glided over her skin… For the first time, she had felt how he looked at her as more than just his mother.
That night had descended upon them like a storm. It was hot, suffocating, yet inevitable. When Ethan’s skin touched hers, Celeste knew nothing could ever be the same again. And Ethan knew it too.
As the masseuse’s hands reached her waist, fingertips brushing dangerously close to the curve of her hips, Celeste’s breath trembled. It was infuriating that this touch reminded her of Ethan. Because Ethan’s warmth was something else entirely. No other touch could compare to that night.
When Elizzia noticed Celeste biting her lip unknowingly, she smirked slyly. She was provoking her. “You said you were jealous of Ethan, but I feel like there's something more.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes slightly, looking at Elizzia from the corner of her eye without lifting her head. Knowing things Elizzia didn’t, only made her possessive desire grow stronger. “It’s not jealousy, Elizzia,” she said, her voice smooth, yet laced with an unspoken tension. “Ethan is mine. How many more times do I have to say it?”
Elizzia raised an eyebrow, as if she had expected that response, clearly amused. “Do all mothers claim their sons like this, Celeste?” she asked with a soft laugh.
As the masseuse’s hands glided up her back and then down again, the pressure of the fingers reminded her of the first moment Ethan had touched her. The warmth. The depth of that moment.
Celeste’s lips parted slightly; her skin shivered. But it had nothing to do with the masseuse’s touch. She remembered how Ethan had first reached for her. Ethan had always desired her. That night was when he realized she was more than just his mother. It was just one night, but it changed everything.
Celeste noticed Elizzia still watching her intently, studying her, so she gave her a taunting smile. “Some things aren’t always as they seem, Elizzia.”
Elizzia chuckled, narrowing her eyes as if trying to decipher Celeste's secrets. “Is that so?”
As the masseuse’s fingers pressed into her back again, Celeste closed her eyes. For just a moment, all that existed inside her was Ethan. And Ethan would always be hers.
As Celeste relaxed on the massage table, she felt relief from the pressure on her body intertwining with the turbulence of her thoughts. Elizzia’s words slithered into her mind like a serpent, while the masseuse’s hands applied deeper pressure on her back.
As always, Elizzia was not just an observer—she was a provocateur. She knew Celeste’s jealousy, her possessive nature, and she fed it with delicate precision. While the masseuse’s fingers worked to dissolve the tension in her muscles, Elizzia stoked the fire of another kind of tension within Celeste’s mind.
“Ah, Celeste…” Elizzia said, her voice soft yet taunting. “I can see how relaxed you are. But how long do you think that will last?”
Celeste closed her eyes, feeling the masseuse’s fingers glide from her back to her waist. She took a deep breath to steady herself, but she knew exactly what Elizzia was doing with this game.
“Why are you asking, Elizzia?”
Elizzia chuckled lightly, patient in her attempt to break Celeste’s resolve. “I’m just curious,” she said slowly. “Because every time I mention Lovren’s name, I sense a change in you. What do you feel for him?”
Celeste remained silent for a moment. Lovren. She couldn’t deny that whenever his name crossed her mind, something stirred inside her. Lovren had recently entered her life, his complex yet alluring energy pulling her in.
But… Comparing Ethan to Lovren? That was like comparing the sacred to the earthly. Ethan was the man who truly owned Celeste.
“Lovren intrigues me, yes,” Celeste admitted, keeping her voice composed. “But Ethan… Ethan is different.”
Elizzia tilted her head and grinned. “Different? Then tell me, what do you think Ethan would do if he found out Lovren was getting close to you?”
Celeste pictured it in her mind. The rising fury in Ethan’s eyes. His conflicted, uncontrollable jealousy. But… would he truly be jealous?
Celeste knew Ethan better than anyone. She knew his need to possess everything, his instinct to protect what was his… But at the same time, she thought of the other women in his life. Aurin. She had been a part of Ethan’s world for some time now, one of the prized players in his games of pleasure. Always there, always giving Ethan exactly what he wanted.
Celeste felt a sudden, undeniable surge of jealousy. It was always the same. She had to watch Ethan be with other women. And there was nothing she could do about it. Because Ethan was a man desired by every woman. Especially now, in his current position, he was more irresistible, more powerful, and more unattainable than ever.
Elizzia had noticed Celeste’s jealousy. She let out a soft laugh, leaning in slightly, whispering in a teasing tone: “See? Lovren excites you, but Ethan… Ethan ruins you. So, which one will you run from? And which one will you surrender to?”
Celeste opened her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. “You don’t run from Ethan, Elizzia.”
Elizzia laughed. “Ah, yes. And you wouldn’t let him run from you either, would you?”
Celeste’s eyes gleamed faintly. Elizzia always knew how to touch the deepest parts of her. Ethan is mine. Her voice was calm, but the storm within her was unmistakable.
As the masseuse’s hands applied one final press before withdrawing, Celeste’s mind was consumed by a single thought. Ethan.
And who he truly belonged to.
As the masseur’s hands moved upward from Celeste’s feet with flawless contact, she felt every touch was made with deliberate precision. The pressure was just right—neither too much nor too little. The rhythmic movement of his hands seemed designed to unravel the tension in her body, but in Celeste’s mind, it awakened a much deeper resonance.
She noticed the tempo slow down for a moment as the masseur’s fingers glided up her legs. It was as if the man had sensed an invisible boundary. He was approaching that fine line but didn’t dare cross it fully. It was up to Celeste to set the limit.
Then, something happened.
Unconsciously, Celeste gripped the edge of the bed with her fingers, her breath growing heavier without her realizing it. Her body seemed under her control, but her mind… her mind was playing tricks on her.
The masseur’s hands now moved with greater intention; each touch carried a rhythm, a purpose. Celeste’s body began to respond to this contact. A soft, stifled sigh escaped her lips. The sound faded into the silence of the room, and when Celeste noticed it, her cheeks flushed. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She wanted to surrender to her senses.
For a while, it continued like this. As the masseur’s hands worked to release the tension in Celeste’s body, she let herself melt into the moment. Slowly, of her own accord, she turned onto her back. Her hands drifted unconsciously to her chest; her fingers roamed her skin, as if rediscovering her body through this touch. Was this an attempt to reclaim control, or was it total surrender? Even Celeste wasn’t sure.
And then her eyes shifted to Elizzia.
The woman was still there, watching her silently. Elizzia’s face bore that ambiguous expression—satisfaction? Jealousy? Or perhaps just the strange pleasure of being part of this moment? When Celeste’s gaze met Elizzia’s, the woman rose slowly to her feet. Her movement was graceful, yet it carried an air of resolve.
The masseur seemed to sense this shift. The rhythm of his hands slowed, his touches growing more cautious. Celeste’s breath remained heavy, but the atmosphere in the room had changed. Elizzia took a step toward the bed. And then, with an insolent air, she leaned over Celeste.
Elizzia’s lips curled into a mocking smile. Her eyes gleamed with a lustful spark—the look of someone who reveled in taking control. Her hand slid toward Celeste’s body, brushing lightly against Celeste’s womanhood for a fleeting moment. The touch carried both a challenge and an invitation. Celeste’s breath caught, her body trembling in response to this sudden contact.
“I want to live you, to explore you, Celeste,” Elizzia said, her voice low and self-assured. The words spilled from her mouth not as a command, but as a promise. Her insolence was palpable in every syllable, as if she weren’t just addressing Celeste, but testing her boundaries.
Celeste’s mind froze for a moment. Elizzia’s hand lingered there, light yet firm, stirring a storm within Celeste’s body. The masseur had fully stepped back now; the stage belonged to Elizzia. Celeste’s eyes locked with Elizzia’s. She didn’t know what to do—did she want to surrender or resist?
And in that moment, her mind drifted back to Ethan. Ethan’s possessive, unhesitating, commanding touch. His movements that never faltered. But now, here, with Elizzia’s brazen presence, everything had shifted into a different dimension.
While Celeste’s senses were drawn to Elizzia, her mind clung to Ethan.
The air in the room thickened with an unspoken tension as Elizzia’s presence dominated the space. Celeste, caught in the web of her own conflicting desires, felt the world narrow to the points where Elizzia’s touch met her skin. The boundary she had once guarded so fiercely was crumbling, eroded by the relentless tide of sensation.
Elizzia’s hand, once tentative, now pressed against Celeste’s womanhood with a deliberate, commanding rhythm. Each stroke was a calculated assault on her restraint, coaxing her body to betray her mind’s faltering resistance. Celeste’s breath hitched, ragged and uneven, as the heat within her surged beyond containment. Her womanhood, now drenched in her own surrender, pulsed with an intensity that left her trembling, helpless against the rising storm.
Elizzia’s lips twisted into a smirk, her eyes glinting with a cruel delight. She reveled in Celeste’s unraveling, her movements growing bolder, more insistent. The pressure deepened, each caress a taunt, as if daring Celeste to hold on to the last threads of her composure. “Look at you,” Elizzia murmured, her voice a velvet blade, cutting through the haze. “Falling apart so beautifully.” The words dripped with mockery, yet they stoked the fire consuming Celeste’s senses.
Celeste’s body arched involuntarily, a silent plea escaping her lips in the form of a low, shuddering moan. She could no longer distinguish where her will ended and Elizzia’s control began. Her hands clutched the sheets, knuckles whitening, as the waves of pleasure battered her defenses. Elizzia, sensing her victory, shifted her approach. With a slow, deliberate grace, she lifted her free hand, her fingers glistening faintly in the dim light, and brought them to Celeste’s parted lips.
Celeste’s eyes fluttered, half-lidded with desire, as Elizzia’s fingertips brushed against her mouth. Instinct took over, raw and unfiltered. She drew Elizzia’s fingers in, her lips closing around them with a hunger she hadn’t known she possessed. The taste was faint, a mix of salt and something uniquely Elizzia, and it sent a jolt through her already overwhelmed senses. She sucked greedily, her tongue tracing the contours of Elizzia’s skin, each motion a surrender to the moment.
Elizzia’s smirk widened, her gaze predatory as she watched Celeste lose herself. While one hand continued its relentless dance against Celeste’s womanhood, Elizzia leaned forward, her breath warm against Celeste’s skin. Her lips found Celeste’s chest, brushing against the soft swell of her breasts with a featherlight touch that quickly turned possessive. She pressed her mouth firmly, a slow, deliberate kiss that deepened into a gentle bite, marking Celeste as hers in that fleeting instant.
Celeste’s world shattered. The dual assault—Elizzia’s fingers in her mouth, her lips on her chest, and the unyielding pressure below—pushed her to the brink. A cry tore from her throat, muffled around Elizzia’s fingers, as her body convulsed in ecstasy. She was weightless, suspended at the peak of sensation, every nerve alight with fire. Her hips bucked, her drenched core trembling violently as the climax ripped through her, leaving her splayed and vulnerable.
Soaked and quivering, Celeste’s form shook with aftershocks, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. Elizzia withdrew her fingers from Celeste’s mouth, trailing them along her jaw with a possessive tenderness. Her lips lingered on Celeste’s chest a moment longer before she pulled back, her expression a mix of triumph and something softer—perhaps admiration for the wreckage she’d wrought.
Celeste lay there, her body a map of sensation, her mind a battlefield abandoned. Ethan’s shadow flickered briefly in her thoughts, a distant echo drowned by the tidal wave Elizzia had unleashed. She had wanted to feel, to surrender—and now, she was nothing but feeling, a vessel of trembling flesh and fractured will.
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