#Hutao05 hispers Under Moonlight

Charlotte Evans stepped out of a taxi, the silvery n//eon lights of Paris casting a glow on her golden blonde hair tied high, highlighting her sea-blue eyes and a confident smile tinged with dreaminess. At 26, Charlotte, a painter from London, had come to Paris to participate in an exhibition at Lune d’Argent, the most prestigious gallery in Montmartre, where artists turned dreams into reality. After a brief romance with an art critic in London, she resolved to make her name, and Paris, with its romantic allure and vibrant art scene, was the ideal place to start.

She pulled her suitcase through the cobblestone streets, n//eon signs from cafés and galleries illuminating her face. “Charlotte Evans, this is your chance,” she muttered, inhaling the night’s blend of c//afé and fr//esh b//read. “Don’t let some jerk hold you back!” She paused before a macaron shop, the scent of v//anilla making her giggle. She snapped a photo of the street, texting her best friend in London: “Paris is like a painting, but I’m kinda nervous… Lune d’Argent isn’t a small stage.”

At her rented apartment in Le Marais, Charlotte opened her laptop, heart p//ounding as she read an email from Lune d’Argent’s manager. She was invited to a private meeting at the gallery to discuss with Gabriel Laurent, the 34-year-old billionaire gallery mogul, renowned for his cold demeanor and refined aesthetic taste. But articles dubbed him the “dream destroyer” for rejecting many young artists. Charlotte googled him, and images appeared: dark brown hair, storm-gray eyes, a smug half-smile exuding arrogance. “Gabriel Laurent, huh? Looks like he’d t//ear me ap//art,” she muttered, but her heart raced, a strange sensation stirring.

The next evening, at Lune d’Argent, the space dazzled with glass walls and silver n//eon lights. In a fitted navy dress, Charlotte strode in confidently, eyes scanning the crowd of artists and collectors. Then she saw him—Gabriel Laurent, standing near a painting, gray suit hugging his muscular frame, aura both commanding and enigmatic. As she approached, he turned, his gray eyes pi//ercing, making her heart skip.

“Gabriel Laurent, I’m Charlotte Evans, painter from London,” she said, voice steady, flashing a confident smile. “I’m here to discuss the exhibition. You’re the gallery owner, right?” She cut to the chase, eyes ch//allenging.

Gabriel raised a brow, lips curling into a s//ardonic smile. “Miss Evans, you’re bold,” he said, voice low, s//eductive as a brushstroke on canvas. “But Lune d’Argent isn’t for novices. If your paintings don’t impress, I won’t select you.” He turned to leave, but Charlotte grabbed his arm, unflinching.

“I don’t need you to go easy, Laurent,” she declared, eyes bl//azing. “But if you miss my talent, you’ll r//egret it.” Gabriel glanced at her hand, then met her gaze, his gray eyes a fl//ame of i//ce, dangerous and all//uring. Suddenly, a surge from the silver n//eon lighting system flared, pulling them into an int//imate moment they couldn’t resist.

Under the radiant silver n//eon glow of Lune d’Argent, Gabriel pulled Charlotte behind a massive painting into a secluded corner, his gray eyes like a st//orm, b//urning with a gentle yet commanding d//esire. “Charlotte,” he wh//ispered, voice low, s//eductive as a fateful brushstroke, “you’ve no idea who you’ve challenged.” Charlotte trembled, her back against the canvas, heart p//ounding. “G-Gabriel… what are you doing?” she asked, voice quivering, but her b//ody leaned toward him, as if hypn//otized by his gaze.

He leaned in, l//ips hovering near hers, his h//ot br//eath grazing her skin. “You’re a dangerous stroke, Charlotte,” he murmured, then k//issed her, a slow, poss//essive k//iss, as if marking her soul. His t//ongue brushed her l//ips, teasing gently, drawing a soft m//oan that echoed in the hidden space. Her hands clutched his suit, fingers trembling, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “Mmm… Gabriel… st//op…” she wh//ispered, but her voice faltered, heart racing from his t//ouch.

He pulled back, eyes gl//eaming, his hand brushing her cheek, thumb tracing her lower l//ip, sending sh//ivers through her. “St//op? You don’t want that, Charlotte,” he said, voice s//ultry, commanding. His hand slid to her n//eck, grazing her coll//arbone, pausing at the c//urve of her ch//est, not venturing further but enough to make her b//ody b//urn, br//eath quickening. “You… we… shouldn’t…” she st//ammered, face flushing, but her eyes were drawn to him, as if bew//itched by n//eon light.

Gabriel leaned closer, k//issing her n//eck, l//ips gliding over her skin, leaving trails of h//eat. “You’re my f//ire, Charlotte,” he wh//ispered, voice a sp//ell, making her m//oan softly, b//ody melting in his arms. He k//issed her earlobe, t//ongue flicking lightly, making her arch, a jolt of el//ectricity coursing through her. “Gabriel… don’t…” she g//asped, but her hands gripped his shoulders, as if begging him to continue. He chuckled softly, pulling away, eyes tw//inkling. “This is just the first stroke, Charlotte. You’ll soon be mine.” He stepped back, leaving her flushed, heart p//ounding, b//ody tr//embling from his t//ouch.

Plot Continuation:

The meeting grew tense as a rival, Elise Moreau, a renowned painter and Gabriel’s ex-lover, appeared. She sneered at Charlotte: “Think you can shine at Lune d’Argent? This is my stage.” Charlotte straightened, eyes resolute. “I’m not here to play, Elise. I’m here to bl//aze.” Gabriel watched, gray eyes gl//inting, but stayed silent, leaving Charlotte wondering whose side he was on.

After the meeting, Charlotte’s paintings impressed the collectors, and Gabriel nodded, eyes tw//inkling. “You’ve got talent, Evans. But I need more.” He invited her to his private studio in Saint-Germain to discuss the exhibition. In the studio, steeped in the scent of p//aint and silver n//eon, he revealed the goal: making Lune d’Argent the global art hub, but Elise was scheming to sabotage Charlotte’s role. “You’ve got guts, Charlotte, but you need me to win,” he said, voice low, eyes locking onto hers. She tilted her chin, def//iant. “I don’t need saving, Gabriel. But if you want to collaborate, be honest.”

He smirked, stepping closer, gray eyes like fl//ames. “Honest? You want proof?” he wh//ispered, and before she could reply, a surge from the silver n//eon system flared, pulling them into a fi//ery moment of p//assion, as if Paris’s moonlight fueled their d//esire.

Under the radiant silver n//eon glow of the Saint-Germain studio, Gabriel Laurent pressed Charlotte Evans against a blank canvas, his gray eyes like a st//orm, bl//azing with fi//erce d//esire, as if the n//eon amplified their cr//aving. “Charlotte,” he gr//owled, voice h//usky, s//ultry as a fateful brushstroke, “you’ve challenged me, and now, you’ll feel the cons//equences.” Charlotte trembled, her back against the canvas, heart p//ounding as if it would sh//atter. “G-Gabriel… what are you doing? This… isn’t me!” she cried, voice p//anicked, but her b//ody betrayed her, b//urning like a f//urnace, her s//ensitive ar//ea drenched, ach//ing for his t//ouch with p//ainful intensity.

He smirked, l//ips crashing onto hers, a fer//ocious k//iss, as if to dev//our her soul. His t//ongue plunged in, tangling with hers, s//ucking hard, draining her br//eath, drawing loud m//oans that echoed in the studio. Her hands clutched his shirt, nails t//earing fabric, leaving red scr//atches on his ch//iseled ch//est. “Mmm… Gabriel… st//op… st//op…” she p//anted, but her ch//est pressed against his, n//ipples hardening through her navy dress, prompting a pr//imal gr//owl, raw and be//astly.

He pulled back, eyes abl//aze, Adam’s apple bobbing. “St//op? Charlotte, you’ve set me abl//aze, and I cannot resist,” he wh//ispered, voice s//ultry, ripping her dress’s zipper, letting it pool at her feet, revealing a navy lace bra cradling her full, he//aving ch//est. He swallowed hard, his h//ard mem//ber straining p//ainfully against his trousers, brushing her th//igh, massive and s//earing. “You sh//ine like moonlight, Charlotte,” he murmured, hands kne//ading her ch//est, thumbs p//inching her n//ipples through the lace until they stood er//ect, pink as radiant g//ems. Charlotte arched, a jolt of el//ectricity surging through her, her p//anties soaked, fl//uids glistening under the n//eon light. “A… ah… you… it’s too much…” she g//asped, nails digging deeper, leaving red w//elts.

He grinned lasc//iviously, yanking her bra down, exposing her petite, pink n//ipples, beckoning him. He latched onto one, s//ucking hard, t//ongue swirling, n//ibbling lightly, while his other hand sq//ueezed her ch//est, kne//ading until Charlotte scr//eamed, b//ody melting in ec//stasy, t//ears of pl//easure streaming. “A… a… Gabriel… I’m… gonna d//ie… it’s too good…” She clutched his head, fingers tangling in his thick dark-brown hair, pulling him closer, t//ears rolling down her cheeks.

He looked up, l//ips glistening, a w//icked smirk spreading. “Too good? I’ll make you mine alone, Charlotte, as moonlight belongs to the night,” he gr//owled, t//earing her p//anties, revealing her pink, s//opping s//ensitive ar//ea, p//ulsing like a blooming flower, b//egging to be filled. He knelt, k//issing her inner th//ighs, t//ongue tracing soft skin, leaving w//et trails. He latched onto her s//ensitive ar//ea, s//ucking fiercely, t//ongue plunging deep, l//apping from inside out, as if savoring a masterpiece. Charlotte arched, scr//eaming, legs qu//aking violently, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking the wooden floor, pooling beneath her. “A… a… Gabriel… I… too good… I’m done…” She gripped his head, b//ody taut, hitting her first cl//imax, mind sp//inning like a n//eon whirl.

He didn’t stop, t//ongue delving deeper, s//ucking harder, making Charlotte scr//eamed again, b//ody convulsing, fl//uids streaming, soaking his chin. “A… you… I… I can’t take it…” she ch//oked, b//ody arching, hitting her second cl//imax, t//ears streaming, b//ody nearly spent. He stood, unbuckling his belt, revealing a massive, r//ock-hard mem//ber, tip red and glistening, aimed at her like a declaration of poss//ession. Charlotte flushed, looking away, heart racing. “You… too fast…” she st//ammered, but he pulled her close, letting her feel his st//eel-hard length.

“Feel it, Charlotte? This is our f//ire,” he gr//owled, k//issing her, t//ongue entwining fiercely yet lovingly. His hand slid down, three fingers plunging into her s//oaked s//ensitive ar//ea, thr//usting fast, thumb r//ubbing her s//ensitive sp//ot, drawing relentless m//oans, fl//uids streaming, soaking his hand. “A… you… I… I need you… now…” she wh//ispered, eyes glazed with d//esire, b//ody trembling, pl//eading to be filled.

He smirked, lifting her onto a wooden table by the window, spreading her legs, her w//et, pink s//ensitive ar//ea p//ulsing invitingly. “You’re mine, Charlotte, as moonlight belongs to Paris,” he gr//owled, his tip brushing her ent//rance, making her m//oan and arch. He pushed slowly, filling her inch by inch, until she scr//eamed, “A… you… so deep… I’m… gonna d//ie…” Her b//ody shook violently, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking the wood, the sound of fl//esh sl//apping echoing. He moved, thr//usting fast and deep, each stroke hitting her core, making her m//oan incessantly, b//ody arching, ch//est bouncing, h//ips quivering with each impact. “A… a… Gabriel… faster… I… can’t take it…” she scr//eamed, t//ears of pl//easure streaming, nails cl//awing the wood.

He gr//owled, switching positions, standing her up, pressing her against the window, lifting one leg, thr//usting deeper, hands sq//ueezing her ch//est, p//inching her n//ipples, making her arch, hitting her third cl//imax, fl//uids fl//ooding, dr//enching them both. “Charlotte, are you l//ost in it?” he rasped, eyes bl//azing. “So good… I’m d//ying… I l//ove you…” she ch//oked, voice breaking, b//ody taut. He switched to a r//iding position, seating her on him, his mem//ber thr//usting up, filling her completely. She b//ounced, ch//est jiggling, h//ips sl//apping his th//ighs, fl//esh sounds echoing, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking them. “A… a… Gabriel… I… too good…” she scr//eamed, hitting her fourth cl//imax, t//ears streaming. He gr//owled, thr//usting up hard, reaching his peak with her, h//ot fl//uids mingling, dr//enching their skin, the table, the floor. He held her tight, k//issing her l//ips, p//anting. “Charlotte, I want you, forever.”

):Charlotte adjusted her dress, face flushed, struggling to regain composure. “Gabriel, that… we lost c//ontrol, didn’t we?” she asked, voice trembling, eyes wary. He stepped closer, gray eyes still sc//orching. “Lost c//ontrol? Charlotte, that was the real f//ire between us,” he said, brushing her cheek. She stepped back, heart racing. “Don’t… we need to talk about the exhibition, not… this!”

Gabriel chuckled, softening. “Stubborn, I like it. Lune d’Argent is your chance to shine, but Elise Moreau will do anything to ruin you. I can help, but you must trust me.” Charlotte tilted her chin, def//iant. “I don’t need saving, Gabriel. But if you want to work together, be honest.”

They discussed the exhibition, and Charlotte was surprised by Gabriel’s creativity. He proposed an event blending paintings and n//eon, but she noticed he kept his distance, eyes occasionally distant, hiding something. When she asked about Elise, he cut her off: “Don’t dig into my past, Charlotte. Focus on your art.” She nodded, but resolved to uncover the truth.

The next day, Charlotte began preparing at Lune d’Argent, the space pulsing with n//eon and the scent of fr//esh p//aint. She received a text from another artist, warning that Elise was colluding with a rival collector to take her spot. Charlotte texted Gabriel: “Elise is playing dirty. We need to meet.” He replied: “You’re quick. Tonight, café in Montmartre. Don’t let Elise know.”

At the café, silver n//eon lights tw//inkled, Gabriel seated in a corner, gray eyes scanning her as she entered. “Elise is a threat, but I have a plan,” he said, voice low. “Stay with me, Charlotte, and I’ll ensure you win.” Charlotte smirked, eyes ch//allenging. “I don’t need guarantees, Gabriel. But I’ll work with you, if you’re honest.” He looked at her, eyes sh//immering, as if seeing a new fl//ame. “You make me want to be honest, Charlotte,” he wh//ispered, his hand brushing hers, making her heart race.

The chapter ends with Charlotte and Gabriel leaving the café, Paris’s n//eon lights tw//inkling, as if witnessing the f//ire igniting between them. Charlotte knew she’d entered a dangerous canvas, but with Gabriel beside her, she was ready to face it, even if Elise or his past tried to ext//inguish her fl//ame.