Chapter 22 #2
“I used to hide in the public library after school,” I say, not turning around. “My dad was always working, always traveling for his diplomatic posts. Books were more reliable companions than people.”
Victor doesn’t interrupt, just listens.
I move to another section, drawn by familiar colors and designs. Romance novels. I pull one down. A historical romance with a cover showing a woman in a ball gown.
“These were my favorite escape,” I say, an unexpected sense of vulnerability settling over me.
“Everyone made fun of romance readers in college. Called the books trash. Said they created unrealistic expectations.” I pull another book from the shelf because I recognize the author’s name.
“But they were the only place I could find stories where someone like me got to be the main character.”
Victor steps closer and leans against the shelf. “What do you mean, someone like you?” His question is stern, a frown drawing his eyebrows closer together.
“Someone ordinary. These stories made me believe I was worth fighting for.”
His frown deepens as he lifts a hand to cup my jaw. “There’s nothing ordinary about you, Grace.”
I laugh softly. “You wouldn’t have looked twice at me if I hadn’t been brave enough to talk to you in high school.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice is steady and certain. “I’ve always seen you. Since the day we bumped into each other.”
I replace the book and select another. “Romance novels taught me what to look for. What to avoid. When I met Sampson and Kara in college, I thought I’d found my happy ending. It was the perfect triad.” My throat tightens. “Should have known better. Real life works nothing like books.”
Victor watches me, listening. Not judging. It spurs me to keep talking.
“After that disaster, I went back to romance novels. They’ve never betrayed me.” I set the book down, turning to face him. “When I started having stronger feelings for you, I kept telling myself it wasn’t real. That I was projecting fictional heroes onto you.”
His eyes soften. “And now?”
“Now I know better.” I step closer to him.
“You’re not perfect. You’re stubborn and overprotective, and sometimes you make decisions for me that should be mine to make.
” He winces slightly, but I continue. “You’re also kind.
Attentive. You notice things, like the fact that I once mentioned loving bookstores. You remember details that matter.”
The music shifts to something softer and slower, mostly made up of piano with strings as a quiet accompaniment, notes floating through the quiet store. Victor sets his champagne glass down on a nearby shelf.
“You listen. Really listen. Do you know how rare that is?”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes never leave mine. There’s a storm raging in them that I wish he would share with me, but I’m not going to push about that right now. Not when he’s given me such a delightful gift.
“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me,” I say, gesturing at the bookstore around us. “And you did it in the middle of a crisis. While Phineas is still being held at your warehouse. When someone is stalking me. Not to mention your father showing up unannounced.”
“You deserved a moment of peace.” He takes my champagne and sets it beside his. “We both did.”
I move to the window, looking out at the street where the security team keeps watch. The reality of our situation hasn’t changed. We’re still in danger. Still being hunted. But for these stolen few hours, in this quiet place of books and soft music, none of it seems to matter.
“I never thought I’d have this,” I say quietly.
“Have what?”
“Someone who sees the real me. Not just the submissive. Not just the sandwich shop girl. The person who hides in bookstores and reads romance novels. The girl who wants both adventure and safety.” I turn to face him. “Someone to share it all with. Someone who creates spaces where I can breathe.”
Victor moves toward me, his steps measured. His hand lifts to my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “You deserve all of that, Grace. And you do those things for me as well, even if I don’t always acknowledge it. You have me. And Lili.”
The mention of Lili makes my heart twist. “I keep waiting for it all to fall apart.”
“It won’t.” There’s steel in his voice. “I won’t let it.”
In this moment at least, I believe him. In this sanctuary of books and pretty music, I allow myself to believe in happy endings again.
Victor’s eyes search mine, and for a heartbeat, I see something flicker there. Hesitation? I’m not sure. It’s gone before I can question it, replaced by warmth and that heated look I’ve come to love from him.
“Show me more of your favorites,” he says, gesturing toward the romance section. “I want to see the books that shaped you.”
So I do. I pull out books that changed me, stories that saved me during the darkest times. And Victor listens as if each word matters more than everything waiting for us outside.
After a while, Victor draws me deeper into the store, past several aisles, into a secluded corner where the floor-to-ceiling shelves create a private alcove. His fingers lace with mine, thumb brushing my knuckles in small soothing circles.
The outside world seems even further away from us here, and I relax more as I stare up at him. His eyes hold a question. A request, not a demand. I answer by rising onto my toes and pressing my lips to his.
There is no urgency to his kiss. No claiming dominance. Just a slow exploration as if we have all the time in the world. As if there aren’t people trying to kill us. It’s the best part of this gift.
His hands frame my face, fingers gentle against my skin.
“We don’t have to,” he murmurs against my lips when I try to deepen the kiss.
“I want to. Here. With you. I want to give you the same thing you’ve given me.”
He smiles against my mouth before kissing me again, deeper this time. His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, down my arms. The touch feels reverent, almost cautious.
I reach for the buttons of his shirt, fingers steady despite the flutter in my stomach. The slow dance of my hands down his body, revealing a little of his chiseled chest at a time, is like unwrapping a gift. I want to savor the moment.
He watches me, patiently letting me set the pace.
When I push the shirt from his shoulders and down his arms, he catches it before it hits the floor, and folds it neatly before setting it on a nearby chair. A little reminder of the control he always maintains.
His hand finds the zipper at the back of my dress, and I turn, giving him easier access.
The sound of the zipper is loud in our quiet corner.
Cool air hits my skin as the fabric parts.
His hand flattens against my spine, warm and steady, then he traces a line down toward my panties before shoving the dress off my shoulders and down to the floor.
Victor helps me step out of it, then folds it with the same care he showed his shirt.
I stand before him in plain underwear, blue cotton, nothing fancy. But they’re the first ones I’ve worn in days since I’m expecting my period any day now. Still, if I’d known what to expect, I might have picked something with lace.
“Beautiful,” he says, and the way he looks at me makes me believe it.
I reach for his belt, unbuckle it with hands that tremble slightly. Not from fear, but from need.
His jeans join the pile of neatly folded clothes, then our respective underclothes. I never expected to be standing naked in a bookstore with this man who enjoys seeing me cry from the sensual pain he inflicts.
Victor’s eyes travel my body with a mix of appreciation and hunger in his gaze. His hand reaches out, tracing the curve of my waist.
“Come here,” he says softly, pulling me to him.
His arms encircle me, so we stand skin to skin. Then his mouth descends on mine, kissing me again. This time, that urgency is there, and his nails dig into my back, making me hiss.
He lowers us both to the floor, where a blanket and some pillows have been arranged. Another detail he thought of in advance. I lie back, watching as he settles over me, careful not to crush me with his weight.
“Tell me what you need,” he whispers.
“You, Victor,” I answer. “Just be yourself.”
His hand slides between us, finding me already wet. One finger works gentle circles over my clit at first, slowly building pleasure, until I arch into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.
“Look at me,” he says, and I don’t miss the shift in his tone. Firm, demanding. My Dom asserting himself just like I asked, even when the moment is more tender than usual.
I open my eyes and find his heated gaze boring into me. His fingers continue their slow exploration, driving me completely mad.
“Who does this pussy belong to?” he asks, cupping his hand fully over me.
“You, Sir,” I whisper.
“Who decides when you come?”
“You do.”
His smile is soft, but there’s a hint of the wickedness I love in his eyes. “Good girl. I’m going to fuck you now, and if you take my cock like a good girl, I’ll let you come when I’m done.”
I nod eagerly, and rise up, positioning his thickness at my entrance, pressing in slow at first. But when I gasp, it’s like I’ve ignited something, and he slams into me, filling me completely. Then he holds still, letting me adjust to the fullness.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice low, slightly strained from holding himself back. “Mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to punish, mine to cherish.”
The possessiveness in his tone makes my heart race and my pussy clench. He begins to move, slow at first, then building in intensity until he’s fucking me hard and fast. One hand finds mine, pinning it above my head. The other grips my hip allowing him to control the angle and depth.
“Say it,” he commands.
“I’m yours,” I gasp out, as the rhythm grows more punishing.
“All of it,” he growls.