She moved past me to the section of dress shirts, running her fingers along the expensive fabrics with appreciation. Finally, she selected a white button-down—Egyptian cotton, custom-tailored.
"This one," she said simply, holding it up against herself.
I winced slightly at the thought of mybespoke shirt being used as casual wear. "That's a—"
"A very expensive shirt, I'm sure," Vivienne interrupted with a knowing smile. "But it's also just a shirt, Julian. It'll wash."
Before I could protest further, Vivienne began unzipping her leather jacket, revealing the form-fitting shirt she'd worn underneath. The casual way she started undressing, as if my presence was natural and expected, sent desire coursing through my veins.
But when she pulled off her shirt, revealing the simple bra underneath, my good intentions about letting her change in peace evaporated entirely.
"Vivienne," I said, my voice rough with want.
She looked up at me, the shirt still in her hands, and I saw her breath catch at whatever she saw in my expression. The air between us seemed to crackle with electricity, charged with the desire that had been building all day.
Without breaking eye contact, I moved toward her, my hands finding her bare waist, pulling her against me with gentle but insistent pressure. When she didn't resist, when she melted into my touch instead, my careful control snapped entirely.
The expensive shirt hit the floor, forgotten, as my mouth crashed against hers in a kiss that was hungry, desperate—full of all the want I'd held back during our perfect day together. Vivienne moaned into me, her fingers threading through my hair as her body arched to meet mine, matching my urgency with her own.
"Bed," I growled against her lips. "Now."
We stumbled out of the closet, each trying to get out of our clothes as fast as possible while still tangled in each other, bumping into furniture as we moved toward the king-sized bed. In her haste, Vivienne spun too quickly in my arms, her hip catching the corner of the dresser with a dull thud.
She gasped. "Ow—damn it!"
I froze instantly, hands tightening on her waist. "Vivienne?"
"I'm fine," she said, though her wince betrayed her. She rubbed the spot just at her hip bone, and I could already see the faint blue of a bruise forming there.
I caught her wrist gently, pushing her hand aside. "Let me see."
"It's nothing—"
"Humor me," I murmured, lowering my head. My lips brushed the blooming bruise, soft as breath. "There. Better?"
Her breath hitched, the word barely a whisper. "Getting there."
I smiled against her skin, the sound low and dark. "Then I'll have to keep trying."
My mouth trailed higher, the sting of impact forgotten beneath the heat rising between us. My riding jacket was already on the floor, but it was followed quickly by her bra. My shirt joined it in a heap, then the rest of our clothes and even my gloves—until we fell into the sheets bare and breathless, all heat and heartbeats and aching need.
My hands slid over her like I was memorizing her by touch alone—my mouth following, kissing down her neck, between her breasts, across the soft curve of her stomach. Vivienne writhed beneath me, her thighs parting instinctively, inviting me closer. I took my time despite the urgency in my blood, mapping every inch of her with lips and tongue, pulling gasps and moans from her throat until she was trembling beneath me.
"You're so fucking perfect," I whispered, voice hoarse as I kissed the inside of her knee and dragged my mouth up the sensitive skin of her thigh. She tangled her fingers in my hair, hips lifting toward my mouth with a pleading whimper.
"Julian—please."
I answered her with my tongue, feasting on her like I'd been starving. She was slick and sweet, her thighs shaking as I coaxed her higher and higher with relentless, skilled strokes. I feasted between her legs as my hands came up to twist and tweak her nipples.
When she finally came, it was with a choked cry and her heels digging into the sheets, her body shaking as she arched up into my mouth.
I moved up her body, kissing her deeply, as I snagged a condom, letting her taste herself on my lips. I pulled away for a moment to roll on a condom. I held steady between her thighs, my cock sliding through her slick folds before I pressed inside with one slow, deliberate thrust that had us both groaning at the contact.
She was tight, warm, perfect—so perfect I had to pause, forehead resting against hers as I fought for control.
"Move," Vivienne panted, her nails biting into my shoulders. "Julian, please move."
I obeyed, setting a rhythm that was deep, claiming, reverent. Our bodies found that familiar, effortless sync, like we'd been made for this—for each other. I gripped her thigh, pushing her leg higher to change the angle, groaning as she clenched around me in response.
