The moment her pussy brushed against his rock-hard cock, reality crashed in on his head.
Because this was the very definition of fucking shit up.
One second, she was on his lap; the next, she was back on her side of the couch as he rose quickly, wincing at the way his jeans constricted his erection.
Belle looked up at him with wide, unblinking eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He was breathless as well—both from the kiss and from the panic setting in.
What the fuck was he thinking? Doing?
Dean had offered him advice, something to think about, but instead of taking his time and doing that, Victor had come at Belle like a ravenous beast, staking a claim that wasn’t his to make.
“Belle,” he said, his voice hoarse, gruff.
She remained where she was, silent. The living room had been comfortable prior to her arrival, but now, it felt humid, sticky, hot.
“We… I shouldn’t have done that,” Victor added, quickly looking away when the first flash of disappointment crossed her expression.
A strong man would face what he’d done, look her straight in the eye and acknowledge the confusion and hurt caused by his impulsive actions.
He wasn’t that fucking strong.
“Why did you—” she started.
“It was a mistake,” he said, cutting her off. Jealousy still flickered, but he couldn’t admit that. Doing so would reveal things to her that he needed to keep hidden.
“I think you staying here is blurring some lines that need to remain clear.” Saying those words cost him something, but he owed her at least that much.
This time, he turned his gaze to her face, forcing her to look as he schooled his features, hardened his expression, and lied his fucking ass off.
“It won’t happen again.”
Belle digested his words without response, and he could practically follow her line of thinking, simply by staring into her eyes. He saw when the lingering arousal turned to disappointment and confusion…and maybe a bit of determination. Perhaps she hoped to change his mind.
If she did, that thought passed quickly, because the expression that settled was both the best and worst one.
Acceptance.
“You’re right,” she said, clearing her throat. “We shouldn’t have done that.” She stood up from the couch, her hands clenched in front of her.
He hated that the easiness the two of them had shared the past several weeks evaporated in the face of his foolishness.
“I’m sorry, Sun— Belle.”
She shook her head. “No, no. It’s okay. We both just had a weak moment. It’s fine.”
She was generous to say that, consideringhe’dbeen the weak one. Not that he was surprised. One of the most attractive things about Belle was how steady and calm she was. She wasn’t prone to hysterics or drama. Instead, she took things in stride and offered forgiveness quickly.
Victor wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d made a fucking mess of this, and Belle was very kindly letting him off the hook.
“It’s kind of late,” she said. “I think I’ll head on up to my room. Good night, Victor.”
“Night, Belle.”
He watched as she left, listening as she made her way upstairs, then returned to the couch, sinking down heavily. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he threw his head back on the cushion and sighed, too wrung out and numb to land on any emotion.
Not regret. Not guilt. Not panic.
Even the jealousy had faded away.
