Chapter 9 #2
Outside her window, the studio stayed empty and quiet, the stillness comforting — no rushing, no airports, no temporary assignments, no wondering where she’d be next. Just this. Her studio. Her students. Her work. Her life.
Her laptop chimed. Running late? Simple text, possessive concern hiding underneath.
Working.
Don’t stay too late.
The smile widened before she could stop it. Bossy.
Someone has to be.
She shook her head, laughing quietly, then set the phone aside and returned to work. The evening sunlight slowly faded beyond the windows while she finished emails, updated schedules, reviewed enrollment forms. For the first time in years, there was nowhere else she wanted to be.
* * *
Viktor arrived at the studio nearly an hour after Josephine’s final class ended. He knew exactly how long it had been, having checked the schedule posted near the front desk. The students would have left long ago, yet light still glowed from the office at the back of the building.
A slow smile pulled at his mouth. Of course she was still working.
The building sat wrapped in evening silence — dance floor empty, mirrors dark, music long since faded.
Only one light remained, hers. He made his way down the hallway and paused outside the door.
Through the glass panel he could see her behind her desk, reading glasses low on her nose, staring at her laptop.
The sight hit him harder than it should have. She looked settled. Comfortable. Home.
He knocked once against the frame. Josephine glanced up, and the second she saw him, her entire face changed — the small tired expression vanishing, a smile taking its place.
“There you are.”
“There I am.” He stepped in.
She leaned back and checked the clock. “You know normal people wait until someone is actually done working.”
“You stopped working twenty minutes ago.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You checked.”
“Of course I checked.”
A laugh escaped her. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Mostly by me.”
“Exclusively by you.”
She shook her head, the smile staying. It always stayed lately, and the realization pleased him more than it should have. Months ago every interaction had felt like a negotiation. Now she looked happy to see him — not surprised, not cautious. Happy.
He sat in the chair opposite her desk; she closed her laptop, and the office immediately felt smaller, more private, more intimate, her attention settling completely on him.
“Okay.”
He folded his arms. “Okay what?”
“What is going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
She pointed at him. “That face means something is going on.”
“What face?”
“The face you make when you’ve decided something.”
A laugh rumbled from his chest. “You’ve become very observant.”
“I’ve had practice.” The answer lingered between them — neither mentioned exactly how much practice she’d accumulated studying him. Neither needed to.
She rested her chin on her hand. “So tell me.”
He watched her quietly. The woman sitting across from him looked nothing like the version that had first returned home. Relaxed now. Comfortable in her studio, comfortable in her life. Comfortable with him. The realization settled heavily in his chest.
“You.”
She blinked. “What about me?”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It probably is.”
Her smile widened. “See? That’s exactly the face.”
He leaned forward, gaze fixed on hers, and for a moment neither spoke. Then he decided he was tired of holding parts of himself back.
“I spent a year building my life around you.”
The smile disappeared. She stared at him. “What?”
“I rearranged schedules. I changed travel plans. I joined committees because you volunteered there.” A disbelieving laugh escaped her — “Oh my God” — but he kept going. “I invested in places you spent time.”
Her mouth fell open. The expression should probably have made him reconsider. Instead it satisfied him.
She rubbed both hands over her face. “You sound proud of this.”
“I am.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve accepted that.”
She stared at him another moment before laughing again, the sound filling the office. He watched her quietly until it faded and the seriousness returned.
“For a year?”
“Yes.”
“You did all of that for a year? Before we ever dated?”
“Yes.”
The office went quiet. Neither looked away. She searched his face as if trying to determine whether he was exaggerating, then sighed. “You really aren’t joking.”
“No.” The answer came immediately, because there was nothing funny about it. Not to him.
She swallowed. “Why?” Softer now. More vulnerable.
Viktor stood and moved around the desk. She watched him approach — never nervous anymore, a fact that pleased him — and when he reached her chair, he rested one hand on its edge, close enough to touch her, close enough to feel her attention shift completely toward him.
“Because it was you.”
Her breath caught — just slightly, enough for him to notice, enough for him to feel.
“I knew what I wanted,” he said, voice lowering.
Her eyes never left his. “I’ve always known.”
The air between them felt different now. Thicker. Charged. The office suddenly seemed too small. Josephine slowly stood; neither stepped back, neither pretended not to notice the lack of space between them.
“For a year,” she repeated quietly.
“Yes.”
Her gaze moved over his face. “You planned all of this.”
“Yes.”
“You planned me.”
A smile touched his mouth. “I planned around you.”
She rolled her eyes, the gesture lacking conviction. His hand settled lightly against her waist — familiar now, expected — and her breathing changed immediately. So did his.
He watched her carefully — every tiny reaction, every shift in expression, every flicker of uncertainty. Then he said the thing he’d stopped trying to hide months ago.
“I’m finished pretending I want anything less than forever.”
Silence followed. She stared at him, the office completely still — no students, no music, no distractions. Only them. Only the truth hanging between them.
For several seconds she said nothing. Then her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, the gesture landing somewhere deep, somewhere dangerous. Her voice came barely above a whisper. “You really mean that.”
He looked directly into her eyes. “I’ve never meant anything more.”
The words settled between them. This time she didn’t look away. This time she didn’t laugh. This time she simply stared at him while something warm and unguarded moved across her face — and the sight made every remaining thought disappear.
Neither seemed interested in talking anymore. The distance between them vanished completely.
* * *
His mouth found hers with no hesitation, no pause — just heat and pressure and the kind of hunger that had been building for months. Maybe longer.
Josephine didn’t remember moving. One second she was staring up at him, breath caught, nerves stretched tight. The next she was pressed back against her desk, his hands braced on either side of her, his body crowding out every other thought.
There was nothing polite about it. No slow, careful approach. Just Viktor, everywhere, all at once. His mouth moved over hers, rough and certain, tasting every inch like he was starving, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment and refused to waste a single second.
She kissed him back harder than she meant to.
Harder than she probably should have. But restraint had never been her strong suit, not with him.
Her fingers dug into his shirt, dragging him closer — not that he needed the encouragement.
He was already there, already pressing her back until she felt the edge of the desk bite into her thighs.
She should have cared. She didn’t. She wanted more.
His hands found her waist and gripped tight.
He lifted her like she weighed nothing, set her on the desk without breaking the kiss.
Her skirt bunched, her legs parted, and he stepped between them, everything going sharp at the edges.
His hands slid up her thighs, slow and possessive, like he owned the right to touch her. Like he always had. Maybe he did.
She hooked her ankles behind him, pulling him closer, and he made a sound — low, rough, vibrating straight through her.
Her head spun. He tasted like dark coffee and something expensive.
He smelled like winter and ambition and the faintest trace of her perfume still clinging to his collar from the last time they’d been close.
God, she was shaking. She didn’t even try to hide it.
He noticed. Of course he did. He kissed her jaw, her neck, the spot just below her ear that made her entire body tense in anticipation. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, voice shredded and raw.
Her answer was a gasp. Or maybe his name. She couldn’t tell.
He found the hem of her blouse and tugged it free, fingers brushing hot against her skin. Her breath stuttered; he smiled against her throat, wicked and pleased. She shoved his jacket off his shoulders, buttons flying. She didn’t apologize. He didn’t ask her to.
He just kissed her harder, hands roaming, mouth devouring — every touch a dare, every breath a promise. She arched against him, desperate for more, and he gave it to her. All of it.
The desk rattled. Papers scattered. She didn’t care. She’d buy a new desk.
He made her feel wanted. Needed. Essential. He made her feel like forever wasn’t just a word — it was a choice. His choice.
At some point her name left his lips, a prayer or a curse, maybe both. She answered with her body, her mouth, her hands tangled in his hair. It was wild and messy and real. It was everything she’d never let herself want — not really, not with anyone, not until him.
He gripped her hips, pulled her forward, crowded her until her knees locked around his waist. Her skirt was already bunched, her blouse half off, buttons missing, hair wild around her face. She looked wrecked and hungry and just a little dangerous. He liked that.