22. Something for Dessert #2
"Sensitive," he murmurs against my mouth.
"Very."
He does it again, this time pinching lightly, and I gasp.
"More?"
"Please."
He shifts down my body, and before I can process what's happening, his mouth is on my breast, tongue swirling around my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth.
The sensation travels straight to my core, and I make a sound that's half moan, half whimper.
"Victor—"
He hums against my skin, the vibration making everything worse—or better—and his hand finds my other breast, matching the attention his mouth is giving the first. I'm writhing beneath him now, my hands fisted in his hair, my hips seeking friction against his thigh where it's pressed between my legs.
"Please," I hear myself say. "Please, Victor, I need—"
"What do you need?"
"You. Inside me. Now."
He lifts his head, and his stormy eyes are so dark they're almost black.
"Not yet."
"Victor—"
"I want to taste you first."
Oh God.
He kisses his way down my stomach, over my hip bones, along my inner thigh. And when he finally puts his mouth over my slick heat, I nearly come apart right there.
His tongue is skilled and wicked and knows exactly where to press, where to circle, where to apply just the right amount of pressure. When he slides one finger inside me, then two, I can't hold back the moan that tears from my throat.
"That's it, darling,” he murmurs against me. "Don't hold back. I want to hear you."
He curls his fingers, crooking them gently and finding that spot inside me that makes galaxies explode behind my eyelids, and his tongue continues its assault on my clit. I’m so close I can barely breathe.
"Victor, I'm going to—"
"Come for me, Harper."
And I do.
I climax with his name on my lips, my hands fisted in his hair, my hips bucking against his mouth as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
He works me through it, gentling his touch as I come down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thigh.
When I can finally breathe again, I look down to find him watching me with an expression of pure male satisfaction.
"You're very pleased with yourself," I manage.
"I am."
I laugh breathlessly. "Come here."
He crawls up my body, and I can see the evidence of his arousal, thick and hard straining against his slacks.
"You're still wearing pants," I observe.
“Yes, I am.”
"That seems unfair."
"Life is unfair."
"Then let's fix that."
I reach for his belt, and he lets me unbuckle it, unbutton his slacks, slide them down his hips along with his boxer briefs.
And then he's naked too, and—
Oh.
He's beautiful. All of him. Long and thick and—
"You're staring again," he says, amused.
"You're stare-worthy. Very stare-worthy."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
"You should."
I wrap my hand around him, and he makes a sound low in his throat that's pure need.
"Harper—"
"Yes?"
"If you keep doing that, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast."
"We can't have that."
I release him, and he makes a sound of protest that makes me smile.
"Tease," he mutters.
"Learned from the best."
He positions himself between my legs, and I can feel him there—hot and hard and right where I need him.
"Wait," he says suddenly.
I blink up at him, dazed. "What? Why are we waiting?"
"Do you—" He stops. "Should I—do we need—"
"Victor Kade, are you having trouble forming sentences?"
"I'm trying to ask if we need protection."
"Oh." I mentally run through my calendar. "I'm on birth control. And I haven’t been—I mean, I got tested after my divorce, and there hasn’t been anyone since.”
“Same. Regular testing. Company policy for executive physicals."
"Of course you get tested as part of executive physicals."
"It's very thorough. They check everything."
"That's very responsible."
"I'm a responsible person."
"Except when you're marrying strangers in video game chapels."
"That was an outlier."
"An outlier that resulted in commemorative Xbox controllers."
"Are we really talking about this right now?"
"You started it by asking about protection."
"Fair point." He leans down, his mouth finding mine again. "Can we stop talking now?"
"God, yes."
And we do. We stop talking and start communicating in a language that's all hands and mouths and the kind of honest intimacy I haven't felt since—
Actually, I've never felt this.
Not with Thomas. Not with anyone.
Because when Victor finally slides inside me—slow and careful and watching my face the entire time—it feels like finding the comfort of a home. Only it’s one that my body and mind have never known.
In Victor Kade, I’ve found a space so safe, so sacred that a shrine should be built in its honor.
And when he fills me completely, the stretch is just on the edge of too much in the best possible way.
"Okay?" he asks, his voice strained.
“There aren’t words for how ‘okay’ I am.”
"Good. Because I'm—" He groans as I shift my hips experimentally. "Christ, Harper."
"Too much?"
"Not enough. Never enough."
He starts to move, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel—"
"What?"
"Perfect. You feel perfect."
He sets a rhythm that's slow and deep and steady, his body attuned to every sigh, every sound, every way my body responds to his.
When I arch my back, seeking more friction, he shifts the angle slightly, and suddenly he's hitting places inside me I’d forgotten existed.
"There," I gasp. "Right there."
"Here?"
"Yes—oh God, yes—"
He maintains that angle, that rhythm, and I can feel the tension building again, coiling, wrapping, spindling tighter and tighter in my core.
"Touch yourself," he says.
"What?"
"Touch yourself. I want to watch."
My hand slides between us, finding my clit, and the combination of his cock inside me and my fingers on myself is almost too much.
"That's it," he groans. "Just like that. You're so fucking gorgeous like this."
His pace increases slightly, his hips snapping forward with more force, and I'm so close I can barely breathe.
"Victor, I'm—"
"I know. I can feel you. Come all over me, Harper. Let go."
And I do. My body explodes around him without my permission, my limbs trembling with the force of it, and I hear him groan my name as he follows me over the edge.
He collapses on top of me, careful to keep most of his weight on his forearms, and we lie there breathing hard, our hearts racing in sync.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then Victor shifts slightly, rolling to the side and pulling me with him so I'm tucked against his chest, his arm wrapped around my waist.
“Holy hell,” he huffs. “You were—that was—“
"Yeah."
"Better than—"
"Definitely."
"We should—"
"Probably not. But eventually."
He laughs, the raspy sound rumbling through his chest where my ear is pressed.
"You're very articulate post-sex," he says.
"You destroyed my vocabulary. I'm working with limited resources here."
We lie there in shared silence, and I let myself enjoy the moment. The warmth of his body. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The way his fingers rub slowly and meticulously across my skin—carving invisible little circles and figure-eights along the surface. I shiver.
"Cold?" he asks.
"No. Just sensitive."
"Everywhere?"
"Apparently."
His hand slides lower, over my ribs, my waist, my hip. "Should I stop?"
"Don't you dare."
He chuckles, and his hand continues its exploration, as we lie there for a while longer. Before long, I can feel sleep starting to pull at me. But then Victor's voice cuts through the haze.
"Harper?"
"Hmm?"
"About the board vote…”
And just like that, reality crashes back in.
"Victor, can we not—"
"We need to talk about it."
"I know. But can we have one night where we don't think about the board or the vote or any of it?"
He's quiet for a moment. "Okay. One night."
"Thank you."
But I can feel the tension creeping back into my body, can feel the doubt reasserting itself.
But tonight?
Tonight I'm going to lie here in Victor Kade's arms, in his bed, surrounded by absurd video game wedding memorabilia, and pretend that this is enough.
That we're enough.
That love can overcome lies and secrets and the fact that I'm probably going to lose him the moment he finds out the truth.
For tonight, I let myself pretend.
And when Victor kisses me again—sensual and longingly and full of promises we both know I can't keep—I kiss him back.
Because I'm selfish. Because I'm weak.
Because I love him.
And love makes you do stupid things. Like lie to the one person who deserves the truth. Like hold on when you should let go.
Like believe that maybe you can survive the fallout when everything falls apart.
And maybe I can't.
But I sure as hell am going to try anyway.