Once inside, he let out a long sigh.
“I hope you have an explanation for kidnapping me like this,” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest.
Bastian ran a hand over his face. He looked tired. He wore a suit without a jacket: grey pinstripe pants, a white shirt, and a sleeveless red vest with maroon embroidery. Despite the dark circles that clung to his eyes, I couldn’t find it in me to look away. His sharp jawline, tousled hair, and the way the vest hugged his frame all screamed wariness. Even in his dishevelled state, he had a dangerous kind of charm, and I tried to push the thought that plagued my brain aside. I had already committed too many mistakes in one weekend.
He sat on the edge of the bed, burying his elbows in his knees.
“The staff was in the kitchen, roaming the lounge,” he said. “They would have seen you soon enough. They are all pretty fond of Eloïse.”
“They hadn’t seen me yet!” I replied, raising my voice.
Bastian responded in a calm tone, like explaining a simple concept to a stubborn child.
“It was only a matter of time, Vera.”
“And what if the staff saw me?”
“They would have reported you to Eloïse immediately.”
Bastian’s room was a mirror image of mine: same pale walls, the same ornate bed frame, and the same heavy drapes that swallowed the light. It was as if the Dubois had ordered every piece in bulk, stamping out the guest rooms like replicas in some impersonal assembly line. Nothing stood out, no hint of personality or warmth, just a cookie-cutter sameness that made the space feel more like a display than a place where someone might actually live.
“Wouldn’t they have seen you too?”
“The difference,” he replied, “is that everyone thinks I’m Eloïse’s lapdog. I can pretend that this has nothing to do with me. They were talking about you, Vera, and you were eavesdropping behind a curtain.”
“So what?” I burst out, my voice trembling with frustration. “I’m nothing more than Dubois’s puppet, Bastian. What does that make me?”
Bastian shot up from the bed, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. He stopped just inches away, the heat from his body rolling off him in waves that made my skin prickle.
“A fool,” he snapped, his words cutting like ablade.
“Don’t mess with me…” I warned, my breath hitching as I stared up at him, caught between anger and something dangerously close to it.
“But no more of a fool than I am,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to a rough, almost quizzical tone. “We’ve both ended up here, Vera.”
“And whose fault is that?”
His brow raised as he lifted my chin with one hand. “Whose fault do you want it to be?”
I pushed him. And out of nowhere, Bastian’s hands were on my waist, my back, my neck. As if on cue, my hands roamed his body with the same fury. Our lips met like two storms colliding; my teeth bit into his inner lip with an anger that seemed reserved only for him, so consuming that I couldn’t discern where it ended, and desire began.
Our kiss was fierce, unrestrained, angry, and longing, until our clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. We tore at the sheets, the fabric tangling around us as Bastian slid my dress off my shoulders. He stopped for a heartbeat, drinking me in, and then his lips brushed my neck, sucking in all the way down to my breasts.
A moan escaped my lips, unbidden.
Bastian, as if begging me to be quiet, kissed me again, his tongue teasing my lips, frantic, starved. Then, Bastian swung one leg over me, straddling my thighs and drawing a sharp breath from my lips. His hands traced the curve of my waist as he leaned closer. I held my breath, waiting for him to sink into me. Bastian moaned against my ear as he entered me. Warmth flooded my senses. A gasp left my lips, and my fingers traced his back, wanting more, more, more. Then, with a twist, he pinned my hands back down.
“Slowly,” he groaned. “I want to savour you, Vera.”
His hips moved cautiously, settling the rhythm, and I closed my eyes, giving in to the feeling. His length stretched me with every thrust, sending ripples down my spine.
Our movements synced, his hips moving faster each time. Bastian’s lips let out a soft moan before closing around my lobule, sucking down all the way to my neck, my jaw, my chin, and stopping right before reaching my lips.
“Kiss me,” I said, my voice soft.
His gaze darkened, and then, his lips were on mine again, a hard thrust accompanying his tongue as it explored my mouth. My blood pooled down my belly, and I gripped his hips as pleasure rolled through me. My core burned with the need for release, and his movements became frantic in response.
I let go. Pleasure engulfed, claiming all of me.
