The thought is so vivid, so visceral, that I have to set my fork down.
Her gaze falls to my empty hand, then back to my face.
The air in the room thickens, becomes heavy with the unspoken. The conversation is over.
We both know it.
But... she is still exhausted. She may have revived to some degree through the shower and meal, but it's still there. I can see it in her posture. The slump. The dark circles. I am still keeping my promise not to let her make a bad decision when she is weak.
She is not in her right mind, which also means I am not in mine.
“We should—” she starts.
"You need to rest," I interrupt, my tone leaving no room for argument.
“I’m not—”
“Victoria.”
"No," she says, her jaw setting.
I lift my brows.
"No?" I repeat slowly, warning clear in my tone.
She stands up. She is standing in front of me, her arms crossed, her chin lifted in an infuriatingly stubborn way.
“I am not a child, and I am not an employee you can order around,” she says, her voice tight. “I’m tired of you telling me what to do.”
“You are also exhausted,” I say, rising to my feet. “And if you think I am going to fuck a woman who is dead on her feet, you are mistaken.”
I watch her throat move as she swallows, her eyes flashing. She is angry, but underneath it, I see something else. Arousal. She likes it when I’m crude. She likes it when I’m demanding. She likes it even as she hates it.
“You are the most maddening, arrogant, controlling man I have ever met,” she says.
“And you are the most stubborn, infuriating, self-sacrificing woman I have ever met,” I reply, stepping closer.
Her breath hitches.
I close the remaining distance between us, my body crowding hers. She doesn't step back. Her back hits the wall, and I place my hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.
She is trapped.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Her chest rises and falls with each ragged breath.
"You can't just decide what's best for me," she whispers.
“Someone has to,” I say. “Because you refuse to do it for yourself.”
Her eyes flash with anger again, but it’s a losing battle. The desire is stronger, more potent. I can see it in the way her pupils dilate, in the way she presses back against the wall.
I lean down, my lips hovering just above hers. I can feel the warmth of her breath, the faint scent of chocolate and coffee. I want to kiss her. I want to devour her.
But I don't.
I am in control. Of this, if nothing else.
"Go to bed, Victoria," I say, my voice rough with need.
