Relief should follow. Instead, disgust twists through me. Not at him, but at myself.
I close my eyes again, but it doesn’t help. My body still remembers. The weight of him pressing me into the mattress, the scrape of stubble against my skin, the rough tenderness in his hands when he cleaned me after. Every detail branded deep. I tell myself it was a mistake, a moment of weakness, nothing more.
I repeat it like a prayer, but my body betrays me, shivering at the memory of his mouth on mine.
I drag myself upright, pulling the sheet with me, wrapping it tight around my body like armor. My legs tremble when my feet touch the floor. Shame seeps into my bones, heavy and relentless.
I pace the room once, twice, then force myself to move. I dress quickly, avoiding the mirror, refusing to see the evidence of what I’ve done reflected back at me.
The house is quiet. I slip down the hall, past his office, past the kitchen, into the library. The one place that feels like mine. I shut the heavy door behind me and turn the lock.
For hours I don’t move. I curl into the armchair by the window, journal open on my lap. The pages are filled with my handwriting: angry, meticulous lines about revenge, about my father, about the vow I carved into myself to never forgive, never falter. Each word stares back at me like an accusation.
I run my fingers over the ink, tracing the sentences I wrote in darker nights. Kill him. Break him. Destroy everything he touches. Words that once felt sharp as glass now blur into something hollow.
What if it doesn’t matter anymore?
The thought slices through me, jagged and raw. What if I’ve already surrendered? What if the moment I let him touch me, the moment I opened my body to him, I laid down my blade?
My chest aches with the weight of it. I slam the journal shut, shoving it aside, burying my face in my hands.
The day drags. I don’t eat. I don’t move. I read the same lines of old case files until the words blur. Every time I close my eyes I see his face above me, hear his voice rasping in my ear, feel the tremor in his chest when he came undone inside me.
By the time night falls, I’m raw, brittle.
He steps inside, tall frame filling the doorway, eyes dark as storm clouds. He doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at me, sitting there curled in the chair, arms wrapped tight around myself.
Finally, he tries. “Vivienne—”
I cut him off with a shake of my head, my voice flat, cold. “It meant nothing.”
His jaw tightens. He studies me, searching for truth in my eyes. I don’t blink. I keep my face carved in stone, my arms locked around me.
He doesn’t believe me. I see it in the way his mouth hardens, in the heat that flickers across his face. Worse, I don’t believe myself either.
I stand, brushing past him, but his hand catches my wrist. The touch burns, sparking something I hate myself for feeling.
I turn, meaning to rip my arm free, but his mouth is on mine before I can. The kiss is harsh, unyielding, his body pressing me back against the door. I shove at him once, twice, then my hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer instead.
It breaks over us again: the tension, the fury, the hunger. His mouth devours mine, his hands gripping my hips, dragging me against him. I moan into the kiss despite myself, nails raking his shoulders.
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me back into the room. The journal falls to the floor, forgotten, pages splayed.
The desk digs into my back when he sets me on it, papers scattering. His hands shove my dress up, his mouth trailing hot along my throat. I gasp, clutching his head, tugging at his hair.
“Last time,” I whisper against his mouth, voice shaking. “This is the last time.”
He doesn’t answer. He pushes my panties aside and thrusts into me in one sharp, desperate stroke. My cry fills the library, loud, breaking, my body clenching tight around him.
He groans against my neck, holding me pinned to the desk as he fucks me deep, hard, relentless. The desk rattles beneath us, papers crumpling, wood creaking under the force.
I cling to him, nails tearing at his back, teeth sinking into his shoulder as pleasure rips through me. His pace grows rougher, every thrust a punishment and a plea.
I come first, shuddering hard, body convulsing around him, head thrown back with a cry I can’t swallow down. He follows seconds later, slamming deep, spilling inside me with a groan that tears from his chest.
We collapse together, breathless, tangled, bodies slick with sweat. His forehead rests against mine, his breath hot and ragged.
I shove at him weakly, sliding off the desk, tugging my dress back down. My legs tremble, my heart pounds.
