Page 21 of Love Is A Draw (Check Mates #2)

S he was kissing him. Not merely letting him kiss her.

Against her better judgment—or perhaps because of it—Gail’s lips parted as Victor’s mouth met hers, and a rush of sensation swept her away.

Warmth radiated from where they touched, spreading through her body in sharp, insistent waves.

Her fingers clutched his coat, pulling him closer, needing him nearer as their motions grew urgent and raw.

She’d suspected Victor could share much with her—but this was a bond they couldn’t have predicted.

He was Grandfather’s only student—the one he loved as dearly as he loved her. “The best boy in the world,” he’d said.

She wanted brilliance. She desired connection. And she’d found both—in the boy her grandfather once praised and the man who had just saved her life. How could she not love him?

His strength surrounded her, his hands firm as they slid into her hair, holding her steady while his lips moved with deliberate confidence against hers.

Her breath hitched as his perfect teeth grazed the soft curve of her lower lip, teasing before he deepened the kiss again.

The air in the hackney grew thick, charged, every rattle of the wheels beneath them drowned out by the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears.

She had run from him—because wanting him frightened her more than anything.

But the farther she fled, the sharper the ache became, until turning back felt inevitable, the only move that made sense.

Now, close enough to touch, the distance between them dissolved, and the fear gave way to something fiercer: longing.

Victor’s body was unrelenting, all lean muscle and control, and when she pressed against him, everything answered in kind.

There was a heat to him, a vitality that burned against her chilled skin, banishing the rest of the world.

She felt his grip tighten, a low sound rising in his throat as she gave herself in full, her hands sliding up to his neck to anchor him to her.

Her head tilted back against the cushioned edge of the seat, offering herself to him without hesitation.

Now everything was out in the open—the past, the stakes, the impossible conflict between their hearts and the tournament—she had nothing left to withhold.

No defenses. No retreat. Love Is A Draw.

But a draw wasn’t a win, and yet kissing him seemed like a win.

On the short run, but not for long, she feared.

And she wanted now to last forever like in stories.

In fairy tales, the princess looked for a prince in shining armor.

She had thought herself too rational for fairy tales—but here he was.

The chess prodigy who made her grandfather proud—and the one man standing in the way of her future—that was her version of a dream come true. Or a tragedy in motion.

His lips broke away from hers, trailing a heated, deliberate path across her jawline and down the column of her neck. The rasp of his breath tickled her skin, setting off a series of tiny shocks as he lingered at the hollow of her throat. Her breaths came faster now, shallow and uneven.

“Gail,” he rasped, and the way he said her name resonated through her bones.

She gasped when his mouth found the sensitive curve just below her ear, her fingers tangling in his hair as the soft whisper of his lips sent a shiver straight through her.

The sensation was maddening, the control entirely his, and yet it wasn’t enough.

She tugged his face back to hers, her lips demanding as she captured his in a fierce and hungry kiss.

He answered her in kind, his groan vibrating against her mouth as their movements quickened, more frantic now. His hands traced a path down her sides, the edges of her bodice pressing beneath his fingers as though the thin fabric did nothing to shield her from him, or him from her.

Victor pulled back just enough to take a shaking breath. “Where did you learn to kiss like this?”

The question sent heat surging to her cheeks, though her lips curved in what she hoped was a semblance of composure. “Never learned,” she answered, breathy, unsteady. She exhaled softly, her hand splayed against the solid breadth of his chest. “Trying new moves.”

His dark eyes flashed, amusement and something far deeper sparking behind them. “New moves,” he repeated wryly, before his lips descended to hers again, fierce and unrelenting. “Best players in the world, the Tarkovs.”

His kiss unraveled her, setting her senses aflame as her body tilted toward him, wanting more than the confines of the hackney would allow. She could feel the length of his devotion in every motion, every press of his lips, every intake of his breath.

It wasn’t practiced or smooth. It was raw. Convincing. And yet beneath all of it lived a quiet ache. If she won the tournament, he would be sent away. If she lost it for him… she wouldn’t be herself.

Their love—if that’s what this was—might not survive the board between them.

And still, she couldn’t stop.

Even through the physical intensity, questions teased the edges of her thoughts. What came next? What happened when the ride ended and reality returned? But those questions flickered into irrelevance as his hands framed her face, the force of his affection leaving her trembling.

Victor’s lips hovered just above hers, both of them breathless. Gail’s chest rose and fell, the rhythm erratic, like his own. He felt her warmth, the press of her curves against him, the scent of damp silk and something floral and clean—her.

He should have stopped. It would’ve been the honorable thing to do. The rational thing. But it was too late. He couldn’t stop. Not with the feel of her still lingering on his mouth. Not when she’d kissed him like she meant to rewrite the rules of fate.

She’d given him her mind before—her fierce opinions, her strategy, her brilliance. But now she was giving him her body. Her trust. And worse—her future.

He leaned in again and kissed her even harder, less patient, less controlled. Her lips parted under his, and her breath caught, but she didn’t pull back. She met him with a hunger that unmade him, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer.

He deepened the kiss, one hand cupping her face, the other trailing down her wet bodice, following the curve of her waist. Her skin, even through the fabric, felt warm. She arched into him and made a sound—a whimper—and it undid him completely.

He slid his hand lower, feeling her tremble under his touch, and he groaned softly against her mouth. “I fell madly and deeply in love with you.”

She answered with a kiss that was all invitation.

“I thought I’d ruined everything,” he said into her skin, his lips grazing her jaw. “But you kiss me like you’d forgive me anything.”

Her hand gripped his coat. “I kiss you because I couldn’t not.”

Her honesty burned through him. His mouth found her neck again, and this time she didn’t just gasp—she pulled him closer, her thigh brushing his, her hips tilting toward him in a silent dare.

He moved over her, gently urging her backward along the cushioned seat. She went willingly, as he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat, then lower. Her hands tangled in his wet cravat, tugging him up to kiss her again, deeper this time, with no hesitation at all.

The hackney bumped and lurched beneath them, but he barely noticed, lost in the shape of her, the way her body responded to his, the breathy sound she made when his fingers skimmed the edge of her stays.

“You shouldn’t want me like this.” His forehead pressed to hers. “Not after today. Not after what I put you through.”

She searched his face with those dark, shining eyes. “I’ve run the calculation.”

“And?”

“Even with all the variables, I’d still choose this.”

His heart twisted. The girl who once hid behind logic had just chosen madness. Him.

Victor kissed her again, slower now, reverent. His hand cradled the side of her face, his thumb brushing the damp skin just below her eye. You’re everything. He didn’t say the words aloud. They pulsed through his fingertips.

He slid his other hand to the back of her thigh, lifting it slightly until her leg curved around him, bringing them flush together.

She gasped softly, her body shifting beneath his.

Every inch of her responded to him as though they’d always been meant for this—no calculation, no preparation. Just instinct.

And desire. He’d never known anything could hurt and heal so completely at once.

“I want to touch you,” he said against her mouth. “Tell me you want this too.”

Her lips brushed his. “I do.”

She wasn’t trembling now.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of her skirt, the fabric whispering as he pushed it higher, past her knees.

Her skin, damp and chilled from the rain, warmed under his touch.

Her breath caught again, and he watched her as he touched her—slowly, reverently, each movement deliberate, meant to memorize the delightful contact.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her hips tilted. Her fingers clutched his arms.

He had never touched anything more sacred.

“Look at me,” he whispered, needing to see her.

She opened her eyes. Dark and full of fire.

She was everything he’d ever wanted. And the one person he could never defeat.

There would be no going back after this.