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"Victoria," Emma sobbed, her fingers twisting violently into the white bedsheets, her knuckles turning white. "Oh god, please—"

Victoria didn't let up. She swirled her tongue right where Emma needed it most, feeding off the breathless sounds the chaotic blonde was making. As Emma’s breathing broke into shallow gasps and her hips chased the wet friction of Victoria's mouth, Victoria slid two fingers deep inside her.

Emma screamed.

The sudden combination of the driving rhythm of Victoria's hand and the relentless suction of her mouth was way too much. Emma shattered instantly, crying out Victoria’s name as her back arched clean off the bed. Her body went rigid, the intense, pulsing waves of her climax clamping down hard around Victoria's fingers. Victoria stayed right there, taking every bit of her release, continuing to use her mouth to ride out the violent aftershocks until Emma finally collapsed into the messy sheets, completely spent.

Victoria withdrew her hand, crawling up the length of the mattress to gather Emma into her arms. Emma was trembling violently, her chest heaving as she buried her face in Victoria's neck, tasting of sweat. They collapsed into each other, a tangle of damp limbs and racing hearts, the afternoon slowly melting into a hazy, golden twilight as they lay wrapped in the messy sheets, drifting in a comfortable, absolute silence.

Sometime later, the lingering warmth of the bed was interrupted by the distinct, unromantic sound of Emma's stomach growling loudly in the quiet room.

Emma groaned, burying her face into the crook of Victoria’s neck with a sleepy laugh that sent a rush of warm air across Victoria’s collarbone. "If I don't eat something immediately, I am going to pass out, and that would really ruin the romantic aesthetic we have going on here."

Victoria smiled, her fingers lazily tracing circles on Emma’s bare back. "I suppose I can allow a brief intermission. But only if you hurry."

Emma rolled out of bed with a dramatic sigh, shivering slightly as the cool evening air hit her skin. She scooped Victoria’s discarded silk blouse off the floor, slipping it over her shoulders and leaving it entirely unbuttoned before padding barefoot out into the hallway, the soft thud of her footsteps fading as she headed toward the kitchen downstairs.

Left alone in the quiet bedroom, Victoria sat up, pulling the duvet over her lap. The peace was profound, but her brain, wired by decades of relentless productivity, struggled to fully power down. Without really thinking about it, she reached over to the nightstand, opening the sleek silver laptop she had left there that morning, the screen glowing brightly in the dim room as she pulled up the spreadsheet she had been agonizing over for the past three weeks.

Ten minutes later, the bedroom door nudged open. Emma walked in carrying a small wooden tray holding a pathetic arrangement of dry crackers, a block of cheddar cheese, ham, and two apples. She looked utterly betrayed by the universe.

"What exactly are you feeding the paying guests, Victoria?" Emma asked, dropping the tray onto the edge of the mattress and crossing her arms, her green eyes narrowed in absolute horror. "Because I just turned the pantry upside down, and unless the people in room three have developed a sudden passion for raw oats and canned soup, we are facing a culinary crisis of epic proportions."

Victoria hesitated, her fingers freezing over the trackpad of her laptop. She looked at the crackers, then up at Emma’s indignant face, knowing this conversation was going to be an absolute disaster.

"Mrs. Marble comes by twice a week," Victoria admitted slowly, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. "She batch-cooks the pastries. I put them in the freezer, and then I defrost them every morning before the guests come down for breakfast."

Emma stared at her, her jaw actually dropping. The silence in the room stretched for three agonizing seconds.

"You are microwaving the guests' breakfasts," Emma repeated, her voice completely flat, as if she was trying to process a profound personal tragedy. "You are serving defrosted pastries in Joe's dining room."

"They are very high quality pastries when they go into the freezer," Victoria offered weakly.

"Absolutely not," Emma declared, pointing a finger at her. "We are having a very long, very serious conversation about this tomorrow morning. I am not letting The Amber House become the laughing stock of the county just because you don't know how to turn on a convection oven."

Emma climbed onto the mattress, grabbing a cracker from the tray, but as she settled cross-legged next to Victoria, her eyes caught the glowing screen of the laptop resting on Victoria’s thighs. Her playful indignation vanished instantly, replaced by a cautious stillness.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked, her voice dropping. "Please tell me you aren't working right now."

Victoria closed her eyes for a brief second, cursing her own inability to just sit still. "I know this probably isn't the right time. But when I couldn't sleep over the last month, when I was sitting here missing you... I started thinking about your Book Café."

"Victoria..." Emma warned, the single word carrying a heavy, dangerous weight that made the hairs on the back of Victoria's neck stand up.

Victoria ignored the warning, her protective instincts overriding her common sense as she turned the laptop screen toward Emma, gesturing to the complex grid of numbers and projections.

"I have already done all the calculations," Victoria rushed on, the words tumbling out as she fell back into the only language she had ever known how to speak. "If you swap the commercial espresso machine you originally wanted for a slightly more efficient model, we can reallocate that budget to expand the front-facing retail shelves. I can show you a projection of the profit margins right now. And if you want, I know two architects based in London who specialize in commercial renovations, I can call them tomorrow and—"

Victoria stopped.

She turned her head to look at Emma, expecting to see curiosity or excitement. Instead, she found Emma staring at the screen with an expression of cold, simmering anger, her jaw locked so tight the muscle fluttered beneath her skin.

"Emma?" Victoria asked softly, her heart dropping into her stomach.

Emma slowly reached out, grabbing the top of the laptop screen and pushing it downward until the laptop snapped shut with a sharp click, cutting off the glow of the spreadsheet. She looked at Victoria, her green eyes fiercely unapologetic and devastatingly clear.

"You are either my investor, or you are my girlfriend," Emma said, her voice steady, stripping away every single defense Victoria had left. "You cannot be both, and you cannot keep doing everything for me."

Victoria swallowed hard, panic instantly rising in her throat. "I just want to help you. I want you to succeed, I want to make it easier for you to—"