“Victor?”
“Mm?”
“I’m glad we won.”
His hand squeezed her ankle, and she felt his satisfaction echo through whatever strange new connection linked them. “Me too.”
When they made it to lunch, Lilith had fixed her nose but not her pride. She spent the entire meal stabbing at her salad like it had personally offended her. Bradley sat beside her, looking confused about where he was and how he’d gotten there.
Ava smiled sweetly every time their eyes met.
The mark stayed warm through lunch, through the afternoon meetings, through dinner.
Later that evening, after dinner and drinks and enough teasing glances that Ava thought she might combust, they stumbled back to their suite.
Victor had her pressed against the door before it fully closed, his mouth hot on her neck.
“Impatient,” she gasped.
“You kicked off your shoe under the table and ran your foot up my calf during dessert.”
“Strategic distraction.”
“It worked.” He lifted her, and her legs wrapped around his waist automatically. The marks flared warm where their chests pressed together.
They made it to the bed this time, barely. Clothes disappeared in a tangle of hands and laughter and Victor swearing in what sounded like ancient Greek when he couldn’t get her bra unhooked.
“Need help?”
“I’ve been undressing humans for four centuries—there.”
“Very impressive.” She pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him. “Though I should mention, bras have evolved significantly since the Renaissance.”
“Noted for future—Christ, Ava.”
She’d wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking slowly. His hips pushed into her grip and his head dropped back against the pillow, throat exposed, and the sight of Victor Morningstar losing his composure beneath her was better than winning dodgeball. Almost.
“Present tense, please. I’d like your attention in this century.”
“You have it. All of it. Every—” His words cut off as she sank down onto him, taking him in slowly.
The marks flared brilliant, hot enough that she gasped. Not painful, but intense, a pressure in her sternum like standing too close to a bonfire. Heat spreading outward through her ribs,into her spine, pooling low in her belly where it mixed with the physical sensation until she couldn’t separate the two.
“Victor—”
“I feel it.” His hands gripped her hips, steadying her. His thumbs pressed into the hollows of her hipbones, and she could feel his pulse through his palms, faster than usual, shallow. “Whatever’s happening, we can stop if?—”
“Don’t you dare.” She started to move, and the sensation doubled—not just the physical stretch and friction but something underneath it, like a second set of nerve endings waking up. She could feel his want, his need, the way every nerve in his body sang when she rolled her hips. His pleasure registered behind her sternum, a warm bloom that wasn’t quite hers, layered on top of her own until the two became difficult to distinguish.
“Fuck,” she breathed. “Is this—are you?—”
“Feeling what you feel? Yes.” His voice was wrecked. “Is it too much?”
“No. God, no. It’s—” She rolled her hips again, and felt his pleasure spike alongside her own, a feedback loop that made her gasp. Like holding two mirrors facing each other: sensation reflecting back and forth, amplifying each pass. “Keep doing that thing with your thumb.”
“This?” He pressed against her clit, and she felt both the direct sensation and his satisfaction at her response—a low pulse of want that traveled from his chest to hers through whatever line now connected them. He liked making her feel good. She could feel that, specifically, as clearly as she felt his hand on her skin.
“Yes, fuck, yes.”
