I increase my pace, feeling the tension building in both of us. Vincent’s breathing hitches, his body tensing against mine. “Come for me,” I urge, my own release approaching rapidly. “Let go,solnyshko.”
He does, with a muffled cry against my shoulder, his release spilling hot over my hand, coating both of us. I follow him seconds later, biting back a groan as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
For a moment, we stand there, foreheads pressed together,breathing hard. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the expensive hand soap and Vincent’s cologne. I should feel guilt, or shame, or at least concern about what we just did while our entire family waits just down the hall.
Instead, all I feel is like something that’s been misaligned for years has finally clicked into place.
I lift my hand, still coated with our combined release, and bring it to my lips. Vincent watches, eyes widening as I lick my fingers clean.
“Fuck,” he breathes at the sight.
I grin, slow and satisfied. “We taste good together.”
Before I can process what’s happening, Vincent surges forward, kissing me deeply, tasting us on my tongue. It’s messy and desperate and perfect. When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard again.
“We should clean up,” he says finally, the practicality of the statement at odds with the sinful look on his face.
I nod, reluctantly stepping back to grab paper towels from the dispenser. We clean up in silence, straightening clothes, tucking shirts back in, avoiding words that might break whatever spell has fallen over us. There will be time for talking later.
Vincent finishes first, glancing at his reflection and attempting to smooth his hair. He looks thoroughly kissed, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes still a bit wild. No amount of primping will hide what we’ve been doing.
“Fuck, I look like a mess,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “They’ll know.”
“I don’t care.” I catch his wrist as he reaches for the door. “Hey. Look at me.”
He does, reluctantly.
“We’re not done talking,” I say, my voice low but firm. “About what my father did. About us.”
A complicated series of emotions crosses his face—fear, desire, resignation. Finally, he nods. “Okay.”
I release his wrist, watching as he composes himself with visible effort before slipping out the door. Only when it closes behind him do I exhale fully, turning to examine myself in the mirror.
My reflection stares back at me, flushed and bright-eyed, looking altogether too pleased with myself. Anyone with eyes will know exactly what I’ve been doing. Strangely, I don’t care. Let them see. Let them know.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to calm the heat in my cheeks. It doesn’t help much.
After several minutes, I make my way back to the dining room. The conversation stutters to a halt as I enter, all eyes shifting between me and Vincent.
He doesn’t look up at me, but the evidence of what we did is written all over him—swollen lips, high color in his cheeks, the subtle mark on his neck that my teeth left despite my best efforts at discretion.
A sense of victory and rightness washes through me.Mine, something primal inside me growls.Finally mine.
“The chef outdid himself tonight,” I say, steering the conversation away from the unspoken questions hanging in the air. “Dinner was delicious. Especially the dessert.”
Natalie’s eyes drop down to my untouched soufflé, and she arches an eyebrow at me. I grin in response.
My father’s eyes narrow, but he plays along, probably to save face in front of Jess. “Indeed. Angela’s famous soufflé. We can see if she’ll pack some for you to take home.”
“Excellent,” I say, glancing at Vincent across the table, hispresence like a magnetic field pulling at my attention.
When he finally looks up, our eyes lock across the expanse of white linen and crystal. Everything else fades—my father’s voice, Jess’s hand resting near mine, the polite laughter at some joke Natalie has made. There’s only Vincent and me, connected by something that’s both new and ancient, something that’s been waiting for us to acknowledge it for years.
A small smile touches his lips, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. But I didn’t. It was real.
14
Vincent
