Chapter 5 #3
He traced the curve of her shoulder, the line of her collarbone, thumb brushing the bite he’d left at the base of her throat. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Small, almost a secret. “I just… I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
His hand curled around her hip, possessive. “I told you. I don’t do casual.”
She snorted, fond. “Yeah, I got that.”
He kissed her hair, then her forehead, then the bridge of her nose — each touch gentle, deliberate, like he was cataloguing her reactions for later. Maybe he was.
She let her hand roam, tracing the sharp muscles of his chest, the ridges of his ribs, the new marks she’d left behind. She liked the way he tensed under her touch, the way his breath caught, like she was the only one who could do this to him.
He caught her wrist, brought her palm to his mouth, pressed a kiss to the center. His eyes were open, softer now, pupils blown, irises almost silver in the dim light.
“You should sleep.”
She wanted to say something clever, something biting. Couldn’t. She just nodded, let him pull her closer, tucked her face against his chest and listened to the slow, steady drumbeat of his heart. It lulled her to sleep.
She would deal with the reality of the situation in the morning.
* * *
Josephine woke with her back to the windows and the unfamiliar weight of Viktor’s arm across her waist. Morning light filled the bedroom, soft enough that she didn’t need to open her eyes all the way to know where she was.
The sheets smelled like him, clean and expensive, the room holding the quiet stillness of a place built around control.
For one moment, she stayed still and let herself breathe.
Then the worry arrived.
It didn’t come gently — tightened her stomach, pulled at her chest, curled her fingers against the sheet.
She remembered the dinner, the hallway, his hand closing around hers, the way she’d followed him without letting herself think too long.
Enough heat to warm her face against the pillow.
She also remembered she hadn’t planned what came after.
Viktor shifted behind her before she could move, his arm tightening slightly — not trapping her, but making clear he was awake and aware of every change in her body.
“You are thinking too loudly,” he said, voice rough with sleep, hand settling flat over her stomach.
“Say it before you turn it into something worse.”
She stared at the pale line of light along the curtain’s edge. “That is a very irritating thing to wake up to.” Not much bite in it. She started to sit up; his hand moved to her waist, coming with her enough to stay close. “You do realize some women enjoy a quiet morning after.”
“I would believe that from another woman.” He sat up behind her, shoulder brushing hers as he reached for the sheet and pulled it higher across her body. “You were holding your breath.”
She looked at his hand near her hip and hated how much the simple contact affected her. “I was not holding my breath.” Then, exhaling when he only looked at her: “Fine. Maybe a little.”
He watched her face without speaking right away — too controlled for a man who’d just woken up, though his hair was less perfect and his voice still carried the low rasp of sleep. “Do you regret last night?” Calm, but his fingers tightened once against the sheet.
She looked at him. “No.” The answer came fast enough to startle even her. She drew the sheet closer and shifted against the headboard. “That is not the problem.”
His gaze stayed on her. “Then tell me the problem.”
She laughed once, tense. “You make everything sound so simple. As if I can just hand you the problem and you will put it in order.”
“I would if I could.” He leaned back beside her, his knee brushing hers beneath the sheet without moving away. “But you are not a problem.”
She pressed her fingers into the fabric pooled at her lap. “My last relationship was with a male ballerina. He understood the work — rehearsals, travel, the pressure, the injuries, all of it. On paper, that should have made things easier.”
Viktor said nothing, turning slightly toward her, giving his full attention without interrupting — which made it harder to keep the words casual. She’d expected questions, a sharp comment. Instead he waited, and the silence pulled more from her than pressure would have.
“I never felt wanted,” she said, staring at her hands now. “Not really. Convenient sometimes, admired sometimes, useful sometimes. We moved in the same world, and it made sense until it didn’t.” She made herself glance at him. “So how do you know this continues after you get what you want?”
His expression changed only slightly, but the room felt different the moment the question left her mouth. He reached for her slowly, giving her time to pull away, and closed his hand around hers when she didn’t. Firm, warm, steady. “You think last night was what I wanted.”
Her throat tightened. “Wasn’t it part of what you wanted?”
“Yes. But it was not the point.”
She looked at him, because that answer left her nowhere to hide. “Then what is the point, Viktor? Because you are intense, and you are certain, and sometimes I cannot tell whether I am standing in front of a man or a decision you made without me.”
“You are standing in front of a man who has been chasing you for a year.” Low, flat with certainty.
“I know what I want because I have had time to want it. I wanted you before last night. I wanted you when you were leaving cities before I could reach them. I wanted you when you were across rooms pretending not to notice me.”
She tried to pull her hand back; he didn’t let go until she stopped resisting. He didn’t hurt her, didn’t force her closer, but the refusal itself made her pulse jump. “That is not fair,” she said, not sure which part she meant. “You cannot just say things like that before coffee.”
“I can.” He brushed his thumb once over her knuckles. “And I will.”
Her mouth parted, then closed again. Arguing was easier than sitting there with his hand around hers, his certainty pressing into every weak place she’d tried to keep covered. “You make it sound like I do not have a say.”
His eyes sharpened. “You have the only say that matters. But do not confuse patience with uncertainty. I know what I want, and I am asking you to stop pretending you do not know what you want long enough to give this a chance.”
She stared at him for several seconds. “That sounded less like asking than commanding.” She lifted her chin, since it helped her feel steadier. “You should work on that.”
“No.” His tone didn’t shift, his hand still around hers. “Give me a chance.”
The words settled between them, direct and impossible to soften.
She looked at their joined hands, then at the room, then back at him.
The worry didn’t disappear, and neither did the urge to protect herself before he could become something she couldn’t shrug off.
Still, she didn’t pull her hand away again.
“One chance,” she said at last, careful. “Do not look so satisfied. I am saying it reluctantly.”
His mouth curved, eyes still fixed on hers. “Reluctantly is acceptable.” He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to her knuckles. “For now.”