Victor raised a hand, crooking his finger at her.
She frowned, confused.
“Come here, Sunshine.”
Belle blinked a few times, surprised by his use of the nickname. It had gone away the same day he’d discovered that fucking cooking schedule on his fridge.
“Victor,” she started, not moving.
His patience was in tatters. Now that he’d turned this corner, there was no going back. Or waiting. He was finished with fucking waiting.
“Now, Belle,” he stressed.
This time, she responded, her cheeks blushing in response to his command.
Interesting.
She approached him, still maintaining a good five feet when she stopped again.
Victor reached out, grasping her hand before pulling her into the living room. One of the cooler features of his house were the pocket doors. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they remained open, giving his downstairs an open concept, but on the rare occasion when he needed privacy, he was able to close and lock them.
Which was what he did right then.
Mercifully, Pip had inherited her mother’s ability to sleep like the dead. A bomb could go off next to that little girl’s head and it wouldn’t rouse her.
“What’s going on?” Belle asked, somewhat alarmed.
“If you don’t want this, the time to say so is now,” he said.
Belle opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
He gave her a full ten seconds, which he felt was really fucking generous because damn if he wasn’t a man on the edge.
He half expected her to use the same line she’d said in the kitchen, since they were technically still in the same boat they were three hours ago. At some point, they’d have to talk it all out.
But that was going to have to come later.
Much later.
Right now, he didn’t have anything to say. At least, not with words.
Grabbing her hips, he drew her to him, his lips cutting off any reply she might make at this point. The only sound in the room her adorable squeak of surprise when he kissed her.
Her arms looped around his shoulders, both of them shifting forward, pressing their bodies together. Belle’s lips parted,inviting him inside, and she moaned with the first swipe of his tongue.
Since she’d left for her date, he’d done nothing but fantasize about what she’d interrupted, what she’d kept him from seeing and feeling under that pretty dress of hers.
“Don’t stop.”
He heard the desperation in her voice, and he felt guilty for his previous actions. For leaving her high and dry. Not once, not twice, but three times.
“Never again,” he growled.
This time, when he began to pull up her sundress, she didn’t stop him. Not when the skirt cleared her waist, not when he dragged it above her head. And not when he whipped it off, tossing it over his shoulder to the floor.
While they hadn’t gone into much detail on past relationships, he got the impression Belle’s experiences were limited. She’d mentioned a couple high school boyfriends and a barista from work. And all of that was years earlier.
Regardless, she wasn’t timid or shy, and she didn’t seek to shield herself from his gaze. Not even when he took a step back, his eyes enjoying a slow, leisurely tour from her face all the way down to her feet. She was wearing one of those sexy bras that pushed her breasts up and a matching pair of panties.
