I cross the room and sit beside him on the edge of the couch. I’m trembling, not from cold but from everything pressing down on me—the fear, the adrenaline, the memory of his body covering mine, the scent of smoke and panic.
For a few seconds, we don’t speak.
We just breathe in the same broken, heavy air.
His hand lifts again—hesitant, almost reverent—and he brushes his fingers along my wrist. The touch is barely there, but it shoots straight through me, sharp and electric. A question. A warning. A surrender.
His gaze searches mine, dark and stormy, and when he leans closer, his breath warms my cheek.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
I should.
I know I should.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I shake my head—small, trembling, undeniable.
That’s all it takes.
The kiss comes slow, devastating, like he’s tasting every inch of my breath, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too fast. His hand cups the side of my face, and I melt into him, the world dissolving until it’s just his mouth, his warmth, his presence swallowing the fear that’s been living in my chest.
He breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against mine, breathing hard, like he’s fighting something inside him.
Then, wordlessly, he stands and scoops me into his arms.
I gasp softly, my hands curling into his shirt as he carries me down the hall, steady and sure—like nothing could pry me from his hold. His footsteps are quiet, purposeful, each one a promise.
He pushes open the door to our room and lowers me onto the bed with a gentleness that makes my throat tighten. Then he climbs in behind me, pulling me against him, my back to his chest, his arm sliding around my waist with a fierce, protective hold.
He exhales into my hair—a deep, trembling breath.
Like he’s finally where he needs to be.
His chest presses against my spine, his heartbeat slow and heavy—a grounding drum that steadies the storm inside me. I relax into him, letting the warmth of his body sink into my bones.
His lips graze the back of my shoulder as he whispers, almost broken:
“I’ve got you.”
And for the first time all night, I believe him.
I’m about to close my eyes when something hard pokes me between my ass cheeks. It’s Dimitri’s erection. Desire blooms inside me, spreading through every nerve ending. I reach back, running my hand along the length of him through his pants. His breathing quickens.
“Vivian, if you don’t stop, I won’t be able to,” he warns.
I roll my eyes, stifling a smile. “I also don’t want you to.”
With a growl, he wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me closer. With the other, he pushes my dress up my legs and hooks one of my legs around his waist, exposing me completely. He rubs my clit a few times and buries his face in my neck.
“Fuck, Viv, you’re so wet,” he groans. “I want to taste you.”
He untangles himself from my hold and settles between my spread legs. Before I can react, he swoops down, running his tongue all the way from my clit to my ass—back and forth, again and again—until I’m a soaking mess.
“Dimitri, please,” I beg, sinking my hands into his hair and pressing him against me. He latches his lips onto my clitoris and rolls them with his tongue. I scream, pressing myself deeper into his mouth.
