Chapter 26
LEO
April 17
One Month Later
Being patient with Vivian has finally started to pay off. Over the past month, we’ve slowly rekindled our friendship. I’ve made a conscious effort not to be possessive of her time. We’ve only seen each other a few times during this period, and I’ve been careful to ensure our interactions remain entirely platonic and respectful of her relationship with Nick.
I haven’t shared any details of our plans for Paris with her. I offered to tell her, but she chose to be surprised and said she’s just along for the ride. All I provided was a packing list.
After a brief layover in New York, we’re now boarding the Air France flight to Paris. Vivian pauses in front of our seats, 1A and 1B, and turns around to face me.
“This can’t be right. It says these are our seats.” Her face shows a mix of confusion and awe.
We flew first class from Chicago to New York, and Vivian has flown first class in the States before, but I decided to go all out and splurge on two of Air France’s La Première cabins. These aren’t your typical first-class seats. Each suite is a private cocoon of luxury with a fully flat bed, plush bedding, and privacy curtains. The cabin crew treats you like royalty, and the gourmet dining experience is like eating at a top-notch restaurant, complete with fine wines and impeccable service.
“These are our seats.” I gesture toward them with a smile. “Take your pick, love. It’s an early birthday present.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “Shut up! Are you joking? Is this for real?”
“No, I’m not joking. Now hurry and sit—we’re holding up the line,” I say, chuckling as she practically bounces into her seat.
I settle into the seat next to her, a seat divider separating us. She grabs my arm, her face alight with joy. “I’ve always wanted to sit in one of these seats. This must have cost a fortune. Really, it’s too much… thank you.” Her smile seems permanently fixed on her face.
It did cost a fortune—close to twenty grand for the two of us—but seeing that smile was worth every penny.
Our flight attendant comes by, and we order drinks because why not?
An hour into the flight, Vivian pulls a stack of books from her backpack. I watch as she rummages through sudoku, crossword puzzles, magazines, a novel, and a sketchbook.
She’ll choose the magazine; she likes to wind down at night with mindless activities.
She pulls the magazine from the pile, returning the others to her backpack.
I grin. “You’re so predictable,” I say, laughing softly.
She furrows her brows. “Why do you say that?”
“I predicted you’d pick the magazine. It was an easy guess. If it were morning, you’d have chosen the sketchbook because that’s when you’re the most creative. The others would be for the afternoon, when you’re most focused.” I smirk. “I know you like the back of my hand.”
She smacks her lips shut, trying to hide a smile.
“Do you think you’re not predictable?” she scoffs. “I bet I know you better than you know me.”
“How much?” I ask, intrigued by where this is going.
She shakes her head. “Not money. Clearly, you have plenty of that if you can justify buying these seats. It has to be something else. ”
“Okay… what then?”
She mulls it over for a moment.
“I’ve got it,” she says, “whoever wins gets to, at any time, call in a favor for something they want.”
“Okay, give me an example of what you mean so we’re on the same page.”
She grins wickedly. “Let’s say it’s three in the morning, and I really want a pastry. I can wake you up and say I’m calling in my favor, and then you”—she pokes my shoulder—“have to go and get it for me.” Her smile widens, clearly pleased with her idea.
“Okay,” I say, nodding in agreement. “So if it’s eight in the morning, and I want to, say… take shots with you”—I glance her way as she grimaces—“of J?germeister, you’d have to take a shot with me?” Her face reflects full disgust, and I laugh.
“You wouldn’t,” she says pointedly. “You know I hate that stuff with a passion.”
“Oh, I would,” I reply with a charming smile.
“Game on,” she says, narrowing her eyes.
“So how do we determine who knows the other better?” I ask.
She purses her lips, deep in thought. “How about this?” She pulls out a notebook and a couple of pens. “Each of us takes turns asking the other a question about ourselves. We write down our answers on paper. After answering, we reveal our answers to each other. This way, there’s no cheating or changing of minds. We’ll each ask ten questions.”
“You think I’d cheat?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you. I know how much you like to win.”
“As I plan to do, right now. You go first,” I say smirking.
She googles “ questions to see how well you know someone ” and clicks on one of the search results, which brings up a list of questions. “We’ll use this. We’ll go down the list in order: I take number one, you take number two. No matter how easy the question is, we’ll just take turns.”
I nod in agreement .
“Okay, first question: What’s my all-time favorite movie?” she asks, cursing under her breath because she knows it’s an easy one. She writes her answer and looks at me expectantly.
“ Crazy, Stupid, Love ,” I reply. “Way too easy.”
“My turn,” she says, handing me the phone.
“Next question: What’s my middle name?” I ask.
She smiles smugly. “James,” she says. “Easy peasy.”
“These are too easy.” I take her phone and scroll down the list. “You’re on the easy questions. Look,” I say, showing her the phone, “this list has harder questions. Let’s use one of these instead.”
She takes the phone back and looks at the new list. “Okay, first question here is… What’s a show I can watch over and over again and never get tired of?” She sighs, “These are still too easy.”
She writes her answer down, and I quickly respond, “Schitt’s Creek.”
She shows me her answer, and sure enough, I’m right. I glance at the list and ask, “Who’s my favorite artist or band?” I write my answer down, curious to see if she knows this one.
“Post Malone,” she says without skipping a beat. She’s right, still too easy.
“Oh, this one’s good. What’s a job that I would hate?” she asks, knowing it could be literally anything. She writes her answer down.
I think about it—there are many jobs I know she would hate, but then I remember her freaking out while watching Saving Private Ryan. All the blood had her nauseous, and she couldn’t continue watching.
I take a guess, “Something in the medical field. A nurse or a doctor?”
She frowns and flips her paper over. It reads ‘ a nurse .’
I laugh loudly. “You are so fucked, Walker!” I playfully nudge her as she gapes at me.
“Have I ever broken a bone?” I ask, trying to recall if we’ve discussed this, as I write my answer.
“Yes, you’ve broken your arm and your collarbone,” she says with a pleased smile.
I turn my answer over, and she’s correct, again .
“Let me see this list. There have to be harder questions on here. Okay, new rule: we get to choose the questions. Someone has to start losing.”
“Fine,” she agrees, taking the phone back to find a question. She examines it, taking her sweet time.
“Today, Walker,” I say jokingly.
She glares at me. “Calm down, I’ve got it. What would my parents say is my worst personality trait?”
I don’t even let her finish writing before I say, “Too nice. You’re way too bloody nice. A people pleaser.”
She scrunches her nose in disgust and turns it over to reveal people pleaser.
I take the phone, determined to stump her now that I can select my own question.
“If I were a superhero, what superpower would I have?” I ask, writing down my answer.
“Teleportation?” she guesses, arching an eyebrow.
“Dammit.” I turn my paper over. “How did you know that?”
“I didn’t. It’s just what I’d pick. It’s obviously the best superpower,” she says, laughing. She looks at the list and smirks. “What’s the last thing I posted on Instagram?” She knows she’s got me.
“Shit. Come on. You know I don’t have Instagram.”
“That’s unfortunate for you,” she says, unapologetically. “You fucking weirdo. Literally, the only person in the world without Instagram,” she playfully shoves me, teasing.
I take a wild guess. “A picture of you and your family at Christmas?”
“Nope,” she says, smiling.
“Prove it,” I challenge.
She pulls up her Instagram account and shows me her page. Her last post was from a few weeks ago, featuring a group of friends at dinner.
“Are these your friends from your support group?” I ask, pointing to the picture.
“Yeah,” she replies, starting to name each one as I look over her page. Her next post is from Christmas time, showing her with her family. Then there’s one with several people I don’t recognize. “Who are these people?” I ask.
“That’s Ben’s family,” she says, and proceeds to tell me who they all are.
The next post is one of us—the night things got out of hand. I take the phone from her and scroll through multiple photos. There’s a picture of us at the Christmas market, our glasses of wine together, and us at Craft’s. I look further down her page, noticing there are so many pictures of us together. A pang of sadness hits me in the chest.
I look at her with remorse. “I’m sorry I fucked things up for a while.” I swallow, “We can get back there, yeah?”
She smiles and takes the phone from me. “We’re already on our way,” she says, positioning the phone in front of us to take a picture. I smile, beyond happy to be here with her.
We continue to play until we’ve answered ten questions each, and she wins. She gloats, and we order drinks to celebrate her victory.
The plane is warm, and Vivian removes her jacket, revealing a very low-cut athletic tank top. Although I’ve been focused on rebuilding our friendship and enjoying our time together, the sight of her cleavage makes it challenging to ignore the attraction I’ve been trying to suppress. She opens her text messages and scrolls through a list of unread notifications. I notice names with a blue dot next to them: Sarah, mom, Nick, Grant, Brian.
Brian? Jesus.
She glances up and catches my reaction. “Relax. We’re friends. You asked me to keep it friendly, and I have,” she says with a calm smile.
“I didn’t say anything,” I reply coolly.
She gives me a tight-lipped look, noting the disapproval in my expression. “But I know what you’re thinking. You don’t have to say it out loud; your face shows it all. Didn’t we just prove that I know you?” She relaxes, “We truly are just friends, I promise.”
I nod. “You’re allowed to be more… if that’s what you want,” I say, tapping my finger on the wall between us. The rhythm is more for my nerves than anything else .
She notices, her eyes flicking to my tapping finger, then back to me. She knows this isn’t easy for me—letting go of control, choosing to be okay with what she decides, even if it twists me up inside. But I mean it. Her happiness matters more. She nods, and the gratitude in her eyes says it all.
We don’t need more words; we understand each other.
* * * * * * * * * *
We make our way to the eighth floor of the Four Seasons, where our room is located. I hand Vivian the key. “You do the honors?”
She takes the key with a grin and opens the door. As she steps inside, her eyes widen. “Oh. My. God!” she exclaims as she walks over to the window. “Look at this view!”
I watch her take in the room with a sense of satisfaction. The suite is a stunning Premier King Room, remarkably spacious for Parisian standards. The grand marble bathroom, the elegant coffee bar, and the king bed with its plush linens all exude luxury. A cozy sofa sits a few feet in front of the bed, facing a large television nestled among beautiful built-in cabinets. A chandelier hangs gracefully from the ceiling, and three floor-to-ceiling windows line one wall, flooding the room with natural light.
She walks around, exploring the suite, ooh-ing and aah-ing. She stops at the bed and frowns. “Hey,” she looks at me, “you said there would be two beds.”
I grimace. “Well, it looks like I was mistaken. It’s fine, Viv. It’s a big bed. I’m not going to bite or roofie you. Besides, I know you’re with Nick. I’d never be disrespectful of that.”
“Well actually,” she hesitates, “never mind,” she says, shaking her head. “So… what are we doing first?”
“God, I forget how energetic you are. Can’t we take a quick nap? I’m exhausted.”
“What? We are not napping! We’re in Paris. You can nap at home or when you’re dead. You know what I want? ”
Vivian bounces onto the bed, flopping down on her stomach with a dramatic sigh, her feet kicking playfully in the air.
“I don’t know, a Xanax?” I offer, grinning at her.
She rolls her eyes and props herself up on her elbows. “Okay, Grandpa, chill out. I want a coffee and a pastry from a café in Paris.”
“A coffee and a pastry? God, you’re so wired, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’d done a line of coke on the plane.” I raise an eyebrow, teasing.
“I’m not wired, I’m excited. There’s a difference,” she says, sitting up on the bed and crossing her arms.
“Okay, it’s your trip; let’s go get you what you want. Does this count as your favor?”
“Hell no! This is just you being nice because you’re a good person,” she says, poking me as we head out the door. “When do I get to see the Eiffel Tower?”
“Whenever you want. Today is wide open. I figured we’d just explore and chill a bit after the long flight.”
“Really?” She gasps, her eyes wide with excitement.
I let out a laugh. “Yeah, really.”
“Sounds great to me,” she says, her smile lighting up the room. “Leo?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she says, turning toward me as we wait for the elevator. “Thank you so much for this trip. And if I forget to tell you later, it was unforgettable.”
We stare into each other’s eyes until the elevator dings.
This trip might be harder than I expected, being here with her… as just a friend.
* * * * * * * * * *
Three Days Later
The trip so far has been incredible, and Vivian is loving every minute of it. We’ve fallen back into our old routine as friends, keeping everything strictly platonic. Our sleeping arrangement has been fine, except Vivian seems to think sexy pajamas are perfectly appropriate. She comes to bed in matching sets, usually short shorts and a low-cut top. It doesn’t matter whether they’re tight, loose, soft, or silky—I’m turned on either way. I’m left falling asleep with my back turned, dick hard, and my mind scrambling to think of the most boring shit possible—taxes, traffic jams, real estate documents—anything to deflate my damn hard-on.
We’ve been to the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and the Arc de Triomphe. We’ve shopped on the Champs-élysées, gone on a bike tour, and dined at three different Michelin Star restaurants. Tomorrow, we have Versailles in the morning and tickets to the Moulin Rouge for the evening. It’s been a packed trip and a lot of fun.
I’m waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. I have a surprise evening planned. We’re going to an exclusive art exhibit I found online. The tickets were expensive and require black cocktail or formal attire. After that, I’ve arranged a private yacht cruise along the Seine, with a five-star chef for dinner tonight.
I wait patiently in my black suit, white shirt, and black tie. When I hear the lock click on the bathroom door, I turn to see her step out.
I’m momentarily speechless. Her New Year’s Eve look had been jaw-dropping, but this—this is on another level.
God, I want to tear that dress off her. Just the thought of her lips on mine, her body pressed tight against me, her panties sliding down around her ankles—it’s going to drive me crazy. I want to taste her, run my hands and mouth over every curve, claim every inch of her.
Jesus, get a grip, man.
She’s with Nick.
I had my shot, and I blew it. I take a slow, calming breath. “Christ, Vivian,” I whisper, “You look incredible. That dress…” I trail off, taking in every detail from top to bottom. “Fuck.”
Am I seriously supposed to keep my hands to myself when she looks like that?
Her dress is strapless and black. The bottom’s flowy and long, grazing the floor, while the top—I swear to God—looks like lingerie. It’s tight and pushes her tits up, making it impossible to look away. The whole thing is sheer, her skin teasing through the lace patterns—solid fabric only covering her nipples. A high slit runs up her thigh, giving me a perfect view of those legs. It’d be so easy to push the fabric aside and tease her until she’s begging for it—begging for me.
She smirks as she fastens her earrings and walks toward me. Placing a hand on my chest, she looks up at me with a calm, collected gaze. “Thank you. You look very handsome,” she says, her voice steady and sincere.
I’m starting to understand the resentment she felt toward me months ago. She chased me for months, only for me to pull away. It feels like we’ve reversed roles. I’ve always wanted her, but now, now I truly want her, and she is unavailable. It kills me. I extend my arm for her to take, and she links it with hers, flashing a smile that makes me weak in the knees.
“You ready, Tiger?” she asks playfully, bumping her shoulder into mine.
“I’m ready,” I say steadily, my voice low.
* * * * * * * * * *
The exhibit was incredible, and Vivian turned heads everywhere she went. The art was unique and intriguing, and as an artist herself, Vivian truly appreciated it more than I did.
Having her on my arm, even as a friend, has been a blast. We’ve spent the evening laughing together; I love that she finds my jokes funny and that I can’t help but laugh with her.
We just finished our dinner on our private yacht, which was beyond delicious. We have the elaborate dining room all to ourselves. I’d arranged for a playlist of some of Vivian’s favorite music to play in the background, featuring some of her favorite British artists. The room is filled with flower arrangements and lit candles, creating a romantic atmosphere. It’s a perfect setup, and I have to give myself props. If she were my girlfriend, I’d for sure be getting lucky tonight.
It’s almost eight, and the Eiffel Tower should be lighting up soon .
“Do you want to go outside?” I ask.
“Yes, that sounds great.”
I fill our wine glasses and we step outside. She grabs my elbow and links her arm with mine as we walk to the middle of the deck, standing by the railing. It’s chilly, so I slip off my suit jacket and drape it around her, brushing her shoulders gently to warm her.
“Always the gentleman,” she says sincerely, smiling. “It’s beautiful out here.”
We stand in silence watching the river, the city glowing behind it. Bands play along the steps by the river, and people dance. The river is calm and steady.
I glance at my watch. “Look over there,” I say, pointing toward the Eiffel Tower.
Ten-seconds later, it lights up, sparkling as its reflection shimmers on the river.
“Wow,” she whispers, placing her hand on her chest and toying with her necklace. “That’s incredible,” she adds, a soft laugh escaping her lips. She slips her hand into mine and gives it a squeeze. I squeeze it back, a small smile tugging at my lips. The quiet stretches on for several minutes, a comfortable silence, just like old times.
She takes a sip of her wine, and finally breaks the silence. “Do you think Ben knows I’m here?” she whispers, her voice tinged with a longing for reassurance.
“Sure he does,” I reply. “Yeah, Viv, he knows.”
She takes a deep, shaky breath. “I always imagined him being here with me the first time I saw the Eiffel Tower,” she says, looking up at me. “I know we already saw it the other day, but seeing it like this, it’s like experiencing it for the first time again.”
I listen quietly, sipping my wine, sensing she needs this moment to work through her thoughts.
“I pictured us standing in awe, looking up at it, holding hands, taking it all in. This picturesque, magical moment, and then he would pull me in and kiss me, and we’d make out right there, not caring if people stopped to watch,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Stupid dreams… I’m sorry,” she sa ys, glancing at me. “I didn’t mean to talk about Ben right now.” She turns her body close to mine. “I’m glad you’re here, Leo.” She places her hand on the side of my arm and gives it a slight rub.
There’s a yearning in her eyes, whether for Ben, her dreams, or maybe for me—I can’t tell, and at the moment, I don’t care. I pull her close by the waist and press my lips to hers. I kiss her slowly, deliberately, and then pull away, locking eyes with her.
She gasps, “What was that for?” Her voice is soft.
“I just wanted you to have your perfect moment,” I say, searching her eyes for any sign of upset. “I know I’m not Ben, and I know you’re with Nick. I just wanted you to have your kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Vivian’s eyes narrow, and her lips press into a thin line. She shakes her head, almost scowling, as if she’s disappointed. “Don’t say that,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “Don’t say it doesn’t mean anything.”
I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not with Nick, Leo,” she takes our wine glasses and sets them on the ground, along with my jacket. “We aren’t exclusive… and we haven’t slept together, so please, don’t downplay this moment when I want it to mean something so badly.” She wraps her hands around my neck and pulls me to her, crushing her lips to mine. We kiss deeply, our tongues taunting one another.
She pulls back, staring into my eyes, waiting for my reaction. The gentle sway of the yacht on the Seine is nothing compared to the storm inside me. Vivian holds me close, her breath warm against the cool air as she whispers against my lips, “It’s you, Leo. It’s been you.”
Her words send a shockwave through me, erasing any lingering doubts. I’ve been soaking in every detail of her appearance all night; I can’t resist her anymore, and I don’t want to. I kiss her again, hard—pouring all my emotions into this moment. She responds with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in my hair.
Pulling away again, her eyes search mine. “Hey,” she says, taking a deep breath, “can I call in my favor?”
I look at her, confused .
“Will you please not stop this time?” she asks delicately, a smile slowly forming on her lips as her eyes lock onto mine. “It can be just this one time… just sex,” she continues, her voice trembling slightly. “I won’t expect anything more from you. Please… I trust you. Help me move forward.”
Holy shit. This is it. Vivian’s in a good place; she trusts me… wants me—and I’ve never wanted anything more. I feel the last of my resolve crumble.
“Vivian,” I murmur, my voice a mix of desire and hesitation. “You really sure about this?” I pull her closer, eliminating the space between us. The warmth radiating from her body seeps into me, making my heart pound faster and harder.
She nods, her eyes unwavering. “Yes, I’m sure.”
I reach out, my fingers gently brushing a stray piece of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” I confess. My gaze drops to her lips for a fleeting moment before returning to her eyes.
“Then do it,” she whispers. “Fuck me, Leo.” Her voice is barely audible, but the challenge in her words is clear. Hearing her say those words ignites a raw need in me to please her.
I brush my lips over hers, savoring the moment. She whimpers as she parts her lips, a plea to give in to her desires.
My lips meet hers, slow at first, deep and sensuous, a tentative exploration. But the heat between us quickly builds, her hands finding their way to my chest.
We move in a heated frenzy, hands exploring, bodies pressing closer. I back her against the railing, kissing her neck, trailing down to the tantalizing neckline of her dress.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I say huskily. She responds with a moan against my jawline as she trails kisses up to my ear. She nibbles and flicks her tongue, teasing the shit out of me. My cock is hard as a rock, and I grind it into her against the railing.
She gasps as I roam a hand over one of her tits, brushing my thumb over the smooth skin that spills above her dress .
“Let’s go inside,” I murmur against her skin, feeling her shiver.
“Okay,” she gasps between kisses.
I grab her hand and lead her down the stairs. We stumble into the dining room, and I pause to look at her. The dress she wears is designed to drive any man wild, but on her, it’s a weapon of mass seduction.
Our lips connect again, my hands wandering, exploring this body I’ve admired for so long. She arches into my touch, and I feel her hands working the buttons of my shirt. I loosen my tie, and finger the back of her dress, trying to figure out how to undo it, but it’s a damn puzzle. “Fuck! How do I get this thing off?” I growl in frustration, making her laugh. I spin her around, pulling her close to me, my arm wrapping around her stomach as I kiss her neck.
I slide my hand up to her tits again, caressing her, moving my hand inside her corset top to stroke her nipple. She arches her back and lets her head fall onto my chest. My other hand travels down, sliding slowly through the layers of fabric until I find her skin. I stroke the inside of her thigh, and she moans softly.
Moving my hands to her back, I kiss every part of her neck and shoulders while fumbling with the tiny hooks on her dress, undoing them as quickly as I can. Hell, at this point, I’m ready to rip the damn thing off her. When the last hook snaps open, I grip the corset and pull it apart, letting the dress fall to the ground, leaving her in nothing but a black lace thong.
She turns to face me, and I take a moment to worship her with my eyes, letting them roam over every inch of her gorgeous body. I exhale. “God, you’re fucking perfect,” I say, the words slipping out like a reverent prayer.
Her eyes grow intense as she slides her hands up my abdomen, her touch sparking a fire in my veins. “Is that so?” she says, her voice soft and sensual. She pushes my shirt off, biting her bottom lip as her fingers drag down my torso, tracing each ridge of my abs. Her eyes follow the path of her touch as she takes her time mapping out my body. Her thumb dips into my waistband, and my breath becomes shallow, my heart pounding. She meets my gaze and smirks. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
I chuckle, the sound low and rough as I press her against the wall, my hands grasping her hips. “Not so bad, huh?” I lean in so my lips brush against her ear. “I want to make you feel things no one ever has—drive you crazy, fuck you until you’re senseless with pleasure. You’ll be begging for more.”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “You talk a big game.” She grips my cock over my pants. “I hope you can deliver.”
I grip her ass, lifting her into the air as her legs wrap around me. “Is that a challenge?” I growl before claiming her mouth with mine.
“Yes,” she whispers against my lips.
I groan and set her down, grabbing her hands and pulling them up above her head, our fingers intertwining. We stare wildly into each other’s eyes, breathing hard. Grinning, I let out a soft laugh. “Fuck, Walker,” I say, kissing her forehead as her gorgeous smile spreads across her lips.
Keeping her hands locked with one of mine, I slowly trail a finger down her arm to her collarbone, and let it continue down to her tits, where I circle her nipple with my thumb, relishing her quiet moans as she arches toward me. I splay my hand over her boob, gently caressing it before sliding it down to her navel. She watches me with an intensity that makes my heart race. My fingers stop at the top of her panty line, toying with the fabric. Her breath catches, held in anticipation. My hand brushes over the lace as I gently tease her, making soft strokes with my fingers over the thin wet fabric, eliciting a gasp from her.
She arches into me, begging me with her body. “Leo,” she pleads, “more… God, stop torturing me.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, my hand hovering above her pussy, waiting for final consent.
She nods, her eyes full of lust. “Yes. I’m sure. I want this… I want you.”
I don’t need any more encouragement. My fingers dip into her panties and slide between her folds. She’s so wet and warm, it’s intoxicating.
She gasps. “Kiss me.”
Grinning wickedly, I whisper in her ear, “You’re soaking wet, love.” I plunge a long finger deep inside her and watch her lose control .
“Oh my God,” she moans as her hips move into me and her head falls back. God, I love how she responds to me. The way her body trembles, the sounds she makes—it provokes me all the more.
I release her hands. Her mouth crushing into mine as her hands swiftly move to my pants, frantically working to get them off as quickly as she can. She yanks them down, and I step out of them in a hurry.
I pick her up and move to the sofa, gently laying her down, hovering over her. The soft fabric of the cushions presses against my knees as I lean in. Our mouths meet again and again, desperate and unyielding, her breath warm against my lips. The faint scent of her perfume mingles with the fresh night air coming through the open window, creating a heady mix that makes my pulse race even faster.
I trail frantic kisses along her jaw, neck, and collarbone, working my way down to her tits. Taking a nipple into my mouth, I flick it with my tongue. She moans loudly, her fingers weaving in my hair and gently tugging.
I hook my fingers under her panty line and tug. She lifts her hips, allowing me to slide them down her legs, then moves to pull off my boxer-briefs, sliding them over my ass until I spring free.
I settle between her legs, holding myself up on either side of her head. My blood burns with desire, a delicious fire I welcome. I pause, taking a moment to appreciate the woman beneath me before I devour her completely. “God, you’re beautiful,” I say hoarsely.
She grips the back of my neck, her eyes glistening. “So are you,” she whispers. Her fingers glide down my chest, unhurried and teasing, until she grips my length in one smooth, deliberate stroke. A groan rumbles out of me, a mix of pleasure and shock at what her touch does to me. She continues to stroke me, the rapture rising like a wave in a hurricane.
No one—absolutely no one—has ever had the effect that Vivian Walker has on me.