Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Every day drags on without Victor. It’s been a month since Cape Cod, and I don’t miss him any less.
School used to be my sanctuary, a place where I could lose myself in lectures and assignments. I naively thought that graduate school would provide an escape, given the immense workload. However, even the thrill of learning and the countless hours of lectures and assignments can’t compete with the Victor-shaped hole in my heart.
Simply put, I’m struggling. Struggling to focus. Struggling to get over him. Struggling to do what’s right. Even in my sleep, I can’t escape him. He haunts my dreams, leaving me wondering if he’s thinking of me, too, and if this has been easier for him.
The aftermath of Cape Cod hasn’t helped. After Smith and Victor left, our trip went downhill fast. Esme retreated to her room, emerging only for food and water, blaming it on a hangover. Liv and I kept to opposite corners of the house, with her occasionally checking on Esme. The flight home was no better. Esme wore her sunglasses the entire time, her expression clearly saying “don’t talk to me.” So I didn’t. I kept to myself, and nothing has changed since.
In an attempt to cope, I’ve thrown myself into wedding planning with an almost obsessive fervor. From picking out flowers and sampling cakes to trying on wedding dresses, it’s all a way to keep busy while my heart shatters a little more each day. Ian’s been so busy with work that he hasn’t noticed my mood changes, or at least, he hasn’t asked. But the hollow feeling inside me grows, and missing Victor has become a full-time state of mind. I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that I’m okay, that I don’t feel like I’m suffocating.
When a lifeline appears in the form of a birthday party invitation from Isabella for her little sister’s sweet sixteen, I gladly take the bait to see Victor again. As I walk up to the Jameses’ huge mansion, Stella’s birthday party is in full swing. The red carpet is alive with an electric buzz of excitement, with cameras flashing and country music setting the beat for my pounding heart. The prospect of seeing Victor again fills me with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, but I know I can’t pass up this opportunity, no matter how bittersweet it may be.
I clench my invitation in a firm grip, my free hand smoothing out my party dress, trying to calm my jittery nerves, but it’s not really working. After I hand over my invite and ID, security pats me down before I pose for a picture in front of a whimsical flower-covered backdrop.
Stepping inside, I’m blown away by the enchanted garden fantasy come to life. Flowers and vines hang from every corner, and twinkling fairy lights make everything glow. Despite the laughter and music pulsing through the room, all I can think about is the ache in my chest.
“Skylar!” Stella’s voice cuts through the crowd, her blond curls bouncing as she runs toward me. Her tight hug and infectious energy make the ache fade for a moment. “Thanks for coming!” She starts talking about her new pink Jeep, a birthday gift from her parents, but I’m only half listening, my eyes scanning the crowd for Victor. Eventually, Stella is pulled away by her friends, and I’m left alone to wander.
As I make my way through the packed crowd, my anticipation grows by the second. Across the room, Isabella stands out like a glittering emerald gem in her green party dress, arm-in-arm with her silver-fox dad, with her elegant-looking mom on his other side. Excusing herself from them, she rushes over and loops her arm through mine. “Yay! You made it. I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I reply, forcing my lips into a small smile that feels unnatural these days.
Isabella gives me a once-over, her hazel eyes sparkling with admiration. “You look good, girl.” Her expression then turns serious, concern etched across her features. “But you also look miserable. Have you lost weight? Is it stress, or are you on some new diet?”
I force a laugh, but it comes out short and unconvincing. “Wow. You really don’t hold back, do you?” The truth is, I’ve lost seventeen pounds from stress, but everyone assumes I’ve been dieting for my upcoming wedding.
Leaning in closer, Isabella softens her voice. “You know who else has been looking miserable? My brother.” Her words catch me off guard, and a flicker of hope mixed with apprehension makes my heart thud in my chest.
“Wh-what do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“He’s been moping for weeks now. Ever since Cape Cod,” she responds.
Taking a deep breath, I attempt to rationalize the situation. “I mean, he and Esme broke up, so it’s probably that.” While Liv is off chasing her dreams at USC, Esme and I are stuck in our suffocating house, dancing around each other like strangers. Between juggling my classes and planning my wedding, I haven’t seen much of her. And when we do cross paths, there’s an awkward tension between us, as if we’ve run out of words to say to each other. We opt for the path of least resistance—avoiding each other, even though we share the same roof.
The corner of Isabella’s mouth twitches in a slight smirk. “Yeah…no. This isn’t about her.” She leans in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is about you. He told me everything.”
Everything ? My eyes widen, and I feel my cheeks flush. “He told you we hooked up?”
Isabella’s mouth drops open and she gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “You did?”
I palm my forehead, realizing my mistake. “Fuck. You said everything .”
“I meant how he feels about you. But you had sex?” Her voice rises on the word sex , and I glance around nervously, hoping no one overheard her, especially her parents.
“It was a one-time thing,” I trail off, then shake my head. “Ian and I were on a break.”
Isabella’s gaze drops down to my engagement ring—the cool metal weighing my finger down—and raises an eyebrow. “Are you still on a break?”
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I shrink under the burden of her question. “Yes.”
She cocks her head, studying me intently. “But you’re still getting married?”
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for what I’m about to say. “I’m going to call it off.”
Isabella’s eyes grow wide, her mouth forming a perfect O. “You are?”
I nod, my gaze drifting off into the distance as I reflect on the state of my relationship with Ian. Things haven’t been good between us, especially since our disastrous cake tasting two weeks ago. When Ian went in for a kiss after wiping some icing from my lip, I instinctively pulled back, not wanting to send mixed signals while we were on a break.
My reaction embarrassed him, particularly since the baker noticed. He sulked for the rest of our appointment, keeping his thoughts to himself until we were outside in the parking lot. When I gently reminded him that we were on a break, he blew up, yelling at me for embarrassing him. In a fit of anger, he left me standing in the parking lot without a ride home, speeding away with his tires screeching on the asphalt. We haven’t talked since.
Isabella’s smile widens, and she reaches out to squeeze my arm. “Just so you know, I’m totally okay with you and my brother being together.”
Confused, I furrow my brows and tilt my head. “That’s…news.” Thinking back to all the things she said about him at our sleepover, I ask, “You are?”
She nods enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t know what you did to him…well, maybe I do now.” She laughs, and I roll my eyes, my cheeks heating up again. “But seriously. This is real for him.” She quickly adds, “Don’t tell him I told you that.”
“I won’t,” I promise, trying to process this new information.
Before I can dislodge the lump in my throat and come up with anything else to say, Isabella drags me along toward her parents. “Come say hi to my mom and dad.”
Eleanor gives me a warm hug, the kind of motherly embrace that fills me with comfort for a moment. She’s always been kind to me, ever since high school. I’d never met the senator before, as he traveled to DC a lot for work. He shakes my hand, his camera-ready smile polished to perfection. “Judge George Wyatt’s granddaughter,” he says. “It’s a pleasure. He was a great man.”
“Yes, he was,” I agree, memories of fishing with Grandpa flashing through my mind. I can’t help but wonder how the senator knows that I’m Judge George Wyatt’s granddaughter. Wyatt is a common last name, and while my resemblance to my dad—and his resemblance to his dad—might be the reason the senator made the connection, it still seems like a bit of a stretch. Perhaps Isabella told him, or maybe he ran a background check on me due to my friendship with his daughter. I’ve heard that he’s been known to overstep boundaries and keep close tabs on those in his children’s lives. I don’t know how to feel about that.
“Victor’s here.” Eleanor’s voice is full of delight, her eyes sparkling. A jolt runs through me, and my heart races like crazy. Even before I see him, I can feel his presence, that familiar tingle running down my spine. His crisp, clean yet intoxicating scent wraps around me, making me heady.
“Hello, Skylar.”
Turning to face him, I force a calm smile on my lips as his glacier-blue eyes lock on mine. He’s so goddamn beautiful—unfairly so. The tattoos peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt only add to his ruggedly appealing look. His starved gaze reveals how unraveled he is, just like me.
“How have you been?” I ask, my cheeks burning under his intense stare.
He dips his chin in a slow nod, worrying his lower lip between his teeth—a telltale sign, I suspect, of his crumbling self-control. That feral stare devours me, stripping me bare and rekindling the embers of our shared past. It’s the same look he gave me before he claimed me on the beach, body and soul. “All right. You?”
“Same.” I’m doing my best to keep it together when everything in me wants to melt into his arms.
“Mom,” Victor greets, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “Izzy… Dad ,” he adds, his tone borderline biting with Dad , a veil of tension lingering between him and his stepfather.
“Victor,” his stepdad replies curtly as Isabella and her mom observe their interaction, seemingly hoping for a civil exchange between the two men. “Nice of you to join us.”
“Anything for Stella. Speaking of, where is she?” Victor’s love for his sisters is clear, a deep-rooted sentiment that even his stepfather seems to acknowledge, judging by the softening of his expression.
Isabella points to the crowd. “Over there with Alex, her new boyfriend. ”
Victor’s forehead wrinkles, his eyes narrowing. “How old is he?”
Eleanor waves off his worry. “Alexander is a nice young man. He comes over for dinner every Sunday.”
I take it Victor is not at those dinners, or he probably would’ve known about Alex.
“Nineteen,” his stepfather interjects. “He’s the lieutenant governor’s son.”
Victor’s lips twist with disdain. “Guess that makes it okay to pimp out your daughter to a legal adult, then.”
The urge to disappear into the background hits me hard. If only I could blend into the party and escape this uncomfortable moment. Eleanor’s eyes widen in a mixture of hurt and horror, her smile faltering as she shifts uncomfortably. I can see the pain in her eyes, a mother’s love for her son warring with the sting of his harsh words.
“That’s enough,” the senator bites, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
Victor meets his stepfather’s gaze head-on, his posture relaxed, and his expression unchanging. He doesn’t flinch or look away, seemingly unfazed by the senator’s displeasure.
“Let’s go, honey,” Eleanor interjects, her voice strained as she tugs on her husband’s arm. “We promised to make ourselves scarce.”
The senator takes a deep breath, his hard gaze lingering on Victor for a moment before he nods curtly. He turns to Isabella—who looks as uncomfortable as I feel—and his expression softens. “Keep an eye on things, please.”
“No worries, Daddy.” She flashes him a reassuring grin as he and Eleanor walk away.
Victor moves closer to me, his breath hot against my ear. “You look amazing in that dress. It’s fucking killing me not to throw you over my shoulder and take you upstairs.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my skin tingling. Isabella, eyes glued to her phone, grumbles, “Get a room.”
I take a step back, but his gaze remains locked on mine. The sizzling tension between us is palpable, as always.
“Victor!” Stella’s voice snaps us out of it. She pushes through the crowd and throws herself at her brother, who scoops her up in a big hug. Stella talks nonstop, bubbling with excitement. Alex, however, hangs back, looking uneasy under Victor’s hard stare.
While Victor’s busy with the two of them, I slip away from the group. I need a second to breathe and clear my head. As I make my way through the crowd, I can still feel Victor’s eyes on me, his magnetic pull never quite letting go.
I’m stuck on the sidelines, feeling totally out of place. My eyes keep drifting back to Victor like they’ve got a mind of their own. Tonight’s making one thing crystal clear— I'll never get over him. Period. And as if my thoughts have summoned him, Victor steps up beside me while I'm fidgeting with my engagement ring, sliding it from side to side.
“Didn’t think you’d show up,” he says, looking straight ahead.
“Me neither,” I admit.
“I’ve missed you.”
My heart does a backflip, then starts racing like I’ve just run a marathon. “I’ve missed you too.”
His fingers brush against mine, sending goose bumps skittering up my arm. We’re playing with fire here, and we both know it. Despite that, our pinkies intertwine, connecting us in the middle of this crazy party.
“Meet me in my old room. Upstairs, west wing. Four doors down on the left.” He lets go of my pinky and walks away, leaving me breathless.
The pull toward him is too strong. I can’t resist, no matter how wrong it is.
Getting away from the party without anyone noticing is trickier than I expected. When Isabella is momentarily distracted by his stepbrother, Quentin, and his wife, Fatima’s, arrival, I take my chance. I weave through the crowd, heading for the double staircase at the back of the house. The soft lights make shadows dance on the walls. Each step feels heavier, my nerves and excitement building.
Upstairs, I head straight for Victor’s old bedroom. Finding it isn’t difficult—I knew its location even before he gave me directions. It’s across from Isabella’s old room, where she and I used to study together back in high school. My heart pounds as I reach his door, my hand shaking as it hovers over the doorknob. A little voice in my head warns me that this is a bad idea, but my desire drowns it out.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I step inside, and Victor’s intense gaze snaps to meet mine. He’s leaning against the far wall, his eyes moving over my body. The second the door clicks shut behind me, he’s there, pressing me against it with his body.
We don’t speak. We don’t have to. Frantic, hungry kisses consume us as we try to make up for lost time. He grips my waist with firm hands, pulling me close as I tangle my fingers in his silky hair.
We’re grabbing at each other’s clothes, desperate for some skin-on-skin action. Scratching at his shirt, I yank the buttons from their holes. He’s just as eager, stripping me out of my dress and bra as I tug his shirt down his arms. Once his chest is bare and I’m only in my panties and heels, he drops to his knees and sucks on my pussy through the thin fabric.
“Yes,” I say on a breath while fisting his hair. I’m burning for him, ready for anything he wants to do to me.
Victor peels my underwear down and lifts one of my legs over his shoulder. Pressing his nose into my pussy, he growls, biting his fingers into my ass cheeks. My chest heaves as it rises and falls with need and a craving for more. And that’s what he gives me. He devours me, licking me and sucking on my clit as I grind into him.
The feral sounds he’s making burn me up. And when he uses his fingers to fuck me, I cry out, not giving a damn who hears.
With one of my hands gripping his hair and the other clawing at the wall behind me, I know my orgasm is near, and it’s about to be off the fucking charts. And when it hits me, it hits me all at once, like a wave completely submerging me underwater. My legs are jelly, and I’m trying not to slide down the doorframe while also trying to ride his face until the orgasmic wave subsides.
As the stars in my eyes fade, I pull him away by his hair until he stands. I need his dick. I want to taste it and feel him sliding between my lips. “My turn.” Sinking down to my knees, I frantically undo his pants and pull them down with his boxer briefs. His big, hard cock springs out, and I can’t help but stare at it—thick and straining and leaking precum. When I look up at him, I’m met with hungry eyes that mirror my need. With my gaze locked on his, I take him in my mouth.
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling at the roots, as he guides me. “That’s right. Be a good girl and take that dick all the way down your throat.”
Those delicious words, spoken in his gravelly voice, flush my cheeks with heat as I take him deeper, his pulsing hardness pressing against the back of my throat. It’s almost too much to handle, and I start to gag, but he pulls me back by my hair, giving me a moment to catch my breath. Then he thrusts back in, moving at a slow and rough pace, the veins on his shaft brushing against my tongue as he uses my mouth to get off. I moan my encouragement for him to keep using me as my eyes water.
“Just like that,” he urges hoarsely as he quickens his pace. “Fuck, that feels good.”
The saltiness of his precum, mixed with the taste of my saliva, is intoxicating.
Who am I ? Definitely not the demure person I thought I was.
As he continues to feed me his cock, I dig my nails into his ass, pulling him even closer at every thrust. I’m about to touch myself, my need throbbing between my legs, when he abruptly pulls out of my mouth, his cock glistening with my spit.
Ragged breaths fill the room—his and mine—as he raises me to my feet, claiming my mouth with desperation that can only stem from knowing this is our last time together. For real this time.
I never want this to end, but it has to. He knows it. I know it. And it doesn’t matter that I’ve fallen in love with him. Or that he thinks he needs me.
Our lips finally part, the weight of our impending separation hanging heavily between us. Foreheads pressed together, a silent understanding passes between us that neither of us wants to voice out loud.
“Make love to me,” I beg, my voice shaky with desire. “One last?—”
He cuts off my words, sealing our lips together. I’m lost in the kiss when he scoops me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. With his hard cock pressed between us, he carries me over to the bed, laying me down and stretching out over me.
Our hearts beat erratically, the sound of mine echoing in my ears, almost drowned out by the rhythm of his. Unwavering, his eyes stay fixed on mine when he enters me, his cockhead stretching me in the delicious way it did on the beach. I’ve tried to remember this feeling in my dreams and thoughts, but nothing compares to how incredible it feels in real life.
Our bodies tremble as he enters me fully, the sensation overwhelming. Leaning down, he captures my lips in a passionate kiss, his movements slow and purposeful as he pulls out to the tip before plunging back into me. My ankles instinctively wrap around his back, urging him deeper as his thrusts become more urgent, almost as if he’s trying to imprint himself on me forever.
I hope he does because I never want to forget this feeling.
We move together, our rhythm reaching a new level of intensity. It’s not long until we’re drenched in sweat, creating a wet sound that fills the room every time our bodies collide. My heart races and my breathing quickens as I draw closer to coming. Frantically digging my nails into his back, I cry out as he bucks into me over and over.
I’m drowning in this— in him .
The sound of my name falling from his lips with such raw desperation lights me up from the inside out. Pressure and pleasure build in my core, and I can’t hold back any longer. Not even if I tried.
An orgasm rips through me, seizing my muscles and squeezing his cock. My body’s response triggers Victor’s climax, his entire body shuddering as he drives into me again and again, letting go and marking me as his.
Who in the hell am I kidding? I can’t let him go. And I won’t. Not for anyone.