Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Robert
“Yes.”
That’s all I need.
I don’t hesitate. My hand closes at her waist and I take her mouth, not asking, not easing into it, just taking, because I already know what she does when I do.
And she proves it immediately.
Her hands are on me, pulling, gripping like she’s been holding this back for too long and doesn’t know how to pace it anymore.
I don’t give her the chance.
I move, ripping apart her underwear.
Everything between us is gone in seconds, my focus narrowing to her, to the way her body is already responding as I stroke her clit, before I’ve even given her enough.
Her fingers drag through my hair, clutching harder, and I feel the shift, the moment she stops thinking and starts reacting.
That’s where I keep her.
Her leg thrown around me, my cock teasing her entrance briefly, I drive into her.
I don’t slow down.
I plunge into her with intent, gauging at first, then harder when I feel her give, when I feel the way her pussy clamps around my cock as her body recognizes mine before anything else does.
A ragged sound leaves her but she tries to hold it in. She fails, because it slips past her fingers clamped against her mouth.
Good.
I want that. I want all of it. The way she reacts. The way she takes me. The way she still fits like nothing’s changed.
I set the pace.
Fast. Relentless.
Not chasing blindly, but driving her there.
Every thrust unhinged, every hit pulling something out of her until she stops pretending completely.
Her body gives it up.
All of it.
Breath breaking. Grip tightening. Moving with me without thinking.
And I feel it build.
I feel the pleasure mount, locking in her, constricting around me, pulling me closer with every second she loses control.
That’s when I push.
Harder.
Deeper.
No mercy until she breaks.
Her pussy clamps down, the reaction hitting her all at once, overwhelming, and I hold her through it, keep moving, don’t let her slip out of it too quickly.
I take every second of it. And that's what takes me too.
A few more gauged drives, sloppy now, and I let go, the release hitting hard, pulling through me with a force I don’t bother containing.
My head dips, my breath breaking against her skin.
And for a moment, I stay there, holding her in place.
When we can breathe better, I pull out slowly.
She shifts immediately, adjusting. Putting herself back together like she needs the movement, like stillness might betray something she’s not ready to show.
I watch her as she shuffles her dress back into place in soft lines, but nothing about her feels composed. Her breathing is erratic, her chest rising and falling faster than it should, her lips slightly parted like she hasn’t caught up to herself yet.
Her hair isn’t the same. It's pulled. Touched.
And her eyes are the worst of it. There’s fire there. Burning like she’s holding something back with everything she has, like if she lets it out it won’t stop at words.
Good.
I prefer her like this.
Alive.
I crouch, reaching for the scrap of fabric on the ground, the one thing left behind in the middle of everything we just did.
Her thong.
I pick it up without looking away from her, my gaze locked on hers as I slide it into my pocket.
“You haven't changed.” She teases.
“A little too old for that now.” I straighten slowly.
My attention sweeps outward for a moment, scanning without making it obvious. The perimeter is still intact. My men are where they’re supposed to be, positioned just beyond the immediate line of sight, blending into the night, into the movement of the area.
Watching and making sure nothing interrupts what belongs to me.
“You clean up nicely for an old man.” She doesn’t look at me when she says it, like she’s tossing it over her shoulder, like it’s nothing.
I almost smile.
“I was trying to impress you.” My hand comes up before she can move, settling at her waist, pulling her into me in one smooth motion, not giving her the chance to step away, to rebuild that careful distance she keeps reaching for.
She stiffens for a second. Then she tilts her head slightly, finally looking at me, her eyes still holding that same fire, just banked now.
“You should try harder,” she pokes, her tone light, but her gaze isn’t.
I lean in just enough, close enough that my voice doesn’t carry beyond her ear.
“I don’t need to,” I murmur. “You’re already paying attention.”
Her lips press together, fighting it.
The pull is still there.
I feel it in the way she doesn’t immediately push me away. In the way she stays long enough to make it clear this isn’t over.
“You’re not disappearing again.” I hold her gaze.
She holds it for a second. Long enough for something unspoken to pass between us. Something that doesn’t need words.
Then she pulls away first.
“I need to get back inside.” Her hands come up, smoothing over her dress again, putting herself back together like she can undo what just happened by fixing what’s visible.
I watch her do it.
“About that dinner?” I ask.
Her head tilts slightly, like she expected it. Like she knew I wouldn’t let it end here.
“No,” she replies easily, brushing past me.
“Tomorrow?” I fall into step behind her.
“No.” She shrugs.
“Then the next day.”
She lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, glancing back at me over her shoulder, her eyes still carrying that same burn.
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“No.”
“I noticed.” She keeps walking. She doesn’t slow down. But she doesn’t tell me to stop following either.
“Lunch,” I offer.
“Busy.”
“Drinks?”
“Working.” She shoots back.
“Just five minutes, Bonbon.”
“I don't know who that is.” She stops, turning, facing me fully this time, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and irritation, like she’s enjoying this more than she should. “But you're a very persistent man.”
“I know what I want.”
Her lips press together, but there’s something there. Something softer than the no she keeps giving me.
“Unfortunately for you,” she drags out, smoothing her hair back into place, “I’m not part of your menu.”
“Okay.” I step closer. “I won't stop asking.”
She smiles. And it’s dangerous. Because it’s not a rejection.
“Good for you,” she replies, turning back toward the entrance, “I've got plenty of nos to dish out.”
She continues walking.
I follow.
The doors slide open as we step back inside, the noise swallowing us whole again, the music, the laughter, the illusion of a perfect night carrying on like nothing just happened outside.
But I’m not looking at any of that.
I’m watching the way she slips back into her world. The way she moves like she’s already decided this ends here.
It’s almost impressive.
The way she moves through people, nodding at staff, adjusting something on a table as she passes, her voice simple when she answers a question thrown her way.
I catch her wrist before she disappears too far into it, firm enough to stop her mid-step. She turns, already braced, already ready to push me away again, but I don’t give her the space to do it.
I pull her in close. Too close, my body angling enough to shield the moment from the room without making a scene.
“I’m not done with you,” I tell her quietly, my voice low enough that it doesn’t travel.
Her breath catches for a second, something flickering in her eyes.
She breathes in, putting back her armor.
“You should be,” she replies, her tone clipped. “Whatever that was…”
“It wasn’t nothing.”
“I didn’t say it was,” she shoots back. “I just think it shouldn’t happen again.”
“It will.”
“That’s exactly the problem.” Her eyes flash.
There it is again. That fire.
She steps back slightly, creating just enough distance to breathe.
“You don’t hear no. You don’t stop. You don’t think about anything outside of what you want.”
“I am thinking about it,” I counter, holding her gaze. “I want to see you again.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Christine…”
“You’re too dangerous for my world,” she cuts in. “You walk into things and take over. You don’t ask, you don’t consider. I have a life that won't survive that kind of chaos.”
I study her, because she means it.
This is not an excuse. It's the truth.
“I won't let anyone hurt you,” I promise.
She shakes her head slightly, like that’s not the point.
But before she can say more a squeak cuts through.
“Mommy!”
I turn at the same time she does, in time to see a small figure darting toward her, little feet moving too fast, too eager, arms already reaching.
Christine’s entire body pulls taut.
“Blue…” she starts, but it’s already too late.
The child reaches her, wrapping small arms around her legs, pressing into her like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.
Behind her, a lady follows quickly, breath a little rushed, eyes apologetic.
“Sorry, I tried to…”
“It’s fine,” Christine answers quickly, her tone changing in a way I haven’t heard yet. Softer. Real.
She bends slightly, her hands automatically finding the child, holding her close.
I’m still standing there, watching.
The girl turns and looks at me, curious.
“Hi.” She waves, like this is normal, like I’m not standing here trying to make sense of what's happening.
Christine moves immediately, her hand curling around the child like she’s about to pull her away, to end this before it starts.
But the girl steps forward instead, unafraid.
“What’s your name?” She asks, tilting her head just slightly.
I don’t answer right away. Because I’m looking at her. And her eyes still me.
Gray.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
“Robert,” I answer finally, my voice quieter now.
She smiles brightly.
“I’m Blue,” she replies, like it’s important I know that.
Christine shifts again, this time more urgent, her hand moving to guide the child back, to pull her out of this interaction before it goes any further.
“Blue, we need to…”
“Lovely to make your acquaintance, Blue.” I don’t look at Christine.
My gaze narrows, tracking over her features slowly, not skimming, studying.
The details that don’t lie. I’ve seen this face before.
Not like this. Not alive, not moving, not looking back at me.
But fixed, captured years ago. Frozen in a photo I never forgot.
Something hit against my heart, like a lock clicking into place.
I run it again.
The timing, years, distance, and disappearance.
If Christine is Mommy, then there’s only one place that leaves me.
Am I daddy?