Page 35

“Victor,” I began, my voice quieter. He turned his full attention to me. “I want Frankie to have every bit of love and attention I never got.”

He tilted his head, listening intently.

“It’s not just about me,” I continued. “Or about us. When I leave Frank, it means taking Frankie away from his father.”

Victor leaned back, one arm draped over the sofa’s worn top rail. “Barbara, you’re not taking him away forever. Fathers have rights. Or they should, anyway. Frank could still see him.”

“But would he?” I asked, my voice rising with the swell of emotion I’d been holding back. “Frank barely makes time for him now when we’re all under the same roof.”

“Are you saying Frank doesn’t love his son?”

“I’m saying that Frank loves the idea of having a son—the status symbol of having a boy with his name.

But the reality of fatherhood is something else entirely.

He never plays with him, never reads him a bedtime story, nothing.

If Frank can’t be bothered when it’s easy, why would he make the effort once we’ve split? ”

A heavy silence settled between us, thick as the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams.

Victor’s expression softened, and he closed the distance between us with an easy slide across the worn leather sofa cushions. He took my shoulders gently in his hands and kissed my forehead.

“Barbara,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure. “I can’t predict what Frank will or won’t do. But I can promise you this—Frankie will never want for a father under my roof. Not ever.”

I looked into Victor’s eyes, searching for the certainty I needed to see. The knot in my stomach loosened just a little.

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms.

I happily slid into his embrace. He held me tightly, as if trying to fuse us together, to make us unbreakable. I closed my eyes and let myself disappear into him, wishing we could stay like this forever—caught in a moment outside of time, beyond the reach of complications and consequences.

“I love you,” he whispered into my hair. “And I will love you and your boy as if my own blood ran through his veins.”

Victor’s words sent a rush of warmth through me, melting the last of my reservations.

I tilted my head and met his lips, first with a tentative brush, then a growing hunger.

He deepened the kiss, urgent and demanding, and I responded in kind, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

Victor’s hands roamed down my back, tracing the curve of my spine before settling on my hips, and every touch sent sparks skittering across my skin.

He pulled me onto his lap, and I straddled him, reveling in the hard press of his body against mine, the way the thin fabric of my dress offered little barrier to the heat radiating from his skin.

We kissed with the desperation of two souls stealing time from an unforgiving clock.

I moved my hands to his shoulders, then slid them down his chest, admiring the firm lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

He unbuttoned the top of my dress, grazing his fingers across my collar bones and sending shivers through me.

I broke the kiss and gasped for air, feverishly burning as I looked into his eyes.

“Victor,” I whispered, but whatever I meant to say was lost as he kissed my neck, then my shoulder, then my breast. His lips were fire on my skin, each kiss igniting a trail of molten desire.

His hands were urgent and insistent as they roamed over my body, melting away the last of my resolve.

We were a tangle of limbs and hurried breaths, desperately ridding each other of clothing.

He brushed his lips against the shell of my ear. “How about one of your extra special kisses?” he whispered.

I turned my head and pressed a soft, tender kiss to his lips.

He let out a low growl. “Tease.” He took a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back—the perfect mix of firm and gentle—to meet his gaze. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

I kissed a path down his torso as he guided me to kneel between his legs.

“You’re so gorgeous when you’re on your knees for me.”

Heat flushed through me as I leaned in and kissed his tip, tasting the first salty bead of his desire.

I swirled my tongue around the head, taking my time, savoring the power I held in this moment.

Victor’s hands tightened in my hair, not forcing but guiding me deeper.

I obliged, sliding him into my mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.

I savored the saltiness of his skin and the way he throbbed against my tongue.

Each movement of my head sent waves of tension through his body.

Each flick of my tongue drew guttural sounds from deep within his chest. I hollowed my cheeks and took him as far as I could, feeling him press against the back of my throat.

My need grew almost unbearable as I worked him with a concert of lips, tongue, and hand.

Victor’s breathing grew ragged, his chest rising and falling with increasing urgency. His grip on my hair tightened, then loosened, then tightened again as if he were fighting an internal battle.

“Barbara,” he groaned, his voice thick from his impending release. “You are so perfect.”

A surge of pride and desire coursed through me at his words. I redoubled my efforts, sliding him deeper, working him faster. His body tensed, every muscle coiling like a spring about to snap.

Just as he reached the edge, he pulled me away with a sharp intake of breath. “Wait,” he commanded, his voice hoarse.

I looked up at him, my lips swollen and wet, my body heavy with unfulfilled need. He grazed my cheek with the back of his hand, then traced his fingers down my neck.

“I have something for you,” he said, shifting me gently to the side as he stood, breathing deeply to regain control. He walked over to the countertop and picked up a small plain white box. My mind raced with curiosity and anticipation.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded.

I obeyed, my heart pounding in my chest. I heard him move closer, felt the air shift as he knelt beside me.

“Trust me,” he said softly, and then the cool satin of a blindfold slid across my eyes. He tied it securely at the back of my head.

My world went dark, but my other senses flared to life.

The scent of Victor’s cologne mingled with the leather of the sofa, creating an intoxicating blend.

I could hear the rustle of the box opening, the soft thud of a hard object being carefully placed on the coffee table, and Victor moving toward the wall and then back to me.

His heat radiated behind me. He gathered my hair and draped it over one shoulder, then kissed the nape of my neck, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. He placed firm hands on my shoulders and guided me to stand and face him.

“Sit back and spread those beautiful legs,” he instructed.

His voice held that perfect balance of authority and care that always sent shivers through me.

The leather sofa cushion was slick and brisk on my bare buttocks.

I hesitated for a moment before complying, slowly parting my thighs.

The rush of cool air made me acutely aware of how exposed—and how… aroused—I was.

Victor’s footsteps were slow and deliberate as he moved around me. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. I bit my lip, every nerve pulled taut, buzzing with anticipation.

“I want you to have something to remind you of me when we’re apart,” he said.

His fingers parted me, probing.

“Something to make you feel good when I can’t be there with you.” He nudged the inside of my knee with his elbow. “Wider, angel.”

I opened my legs as far as my hips allowed. My groin ached from the stretch. Something cool, hard, and smooth replaced Victor’s fingers. I gasped as a chill rippled through me.

“What is?—”

He pressed a silencing finger to my lips as he moved the object in slow swipes, increasingly slippery as he glided it back and forth. I gasped when he ran it over my sweet spot in slow, deliberate circles.

“Don’t make a sound,” Victor commanded. “No matter how much you want to scream. You know I love to hear you cry out, but we mustn’t scandalize our poor hostess downstairs.” His breath was hot, his voice a low, dangerous purr in my ear as he leaned in close. “And don’t you dare pull back.”

I bit down on my lower lip and slowly nodded. Every nerve was alert, and I trembled with anticipation and fear of the unknown.

There was a soft click, and the object in his hand shot to life with a low, rumbling hum.

A jolt shot through me as the vibrations sent shockwaves to my nerves.

I sucked in a breath, my chest tight as the sensation radiated outward, setting every inch of me alight.

I bit down hard on my lip to stifle the cry that surged in my throat.

The realization hit me—a vibrator. I’d heard whispers, even seen less-than-discreet ads for “massagers.” My sister, Edith, apparently had one in her dressing table that she affectionately called her “electrician,” but I had never imagined using one myself.

Victor moved the vibrator in slow, teasing strokes, never lingering long enough for me to find release. I gripped the sofa’s edge, knuckles straining as I fought to stay silent. Each pass over my sweet spot sent a current through me, like lightning striking a taut wire.

“You’ve never used one of these, have you?” His voice was a velvet caress, smug yet tender.

I shook my head, words failing me. The blindfold heightened every sensation—the cool air against my skin, the warm leather beneath me, the relentless buzz of the vibrator—as if my body were a tightly wound instrument, every nerve a plucked string.

Victor’s free hand slid up my thigh, caressing the tender skin with the lightest of touches. My hips bucked involuntarily away from the vibrator, my nerves utterly overwhelmed.

“You pulled back,” Victor chided, his tone a mix of disappointment and stern control. “I told you not to.”