“This does not mean anything.”
I almost smiled.
“That one was a lie.”
She hit my chest with the flat of her hand. Then she kissed me again.
I walked her backwards down the hall, stopping outside her door.
Her door. Her lock. Her terms.
She looked up at me, eyes dark. “You are doing this on purpose.”
“Yes, my love.”
“To make me feel like I chose this.”
“To make sure you do.”
For a moment, she looked angry enough to leave. Then her hand reached behind her, opened the door, and pulled me inside with her.
Miss Astoria sat on the bed as if she owned it.
Céline stared at her. “Absolutely not.”
The cat blinked.
“Out.”
Miss Astoria did not move. I heard myself laugh, low and helpless. Céline glanced at me, and despite everything, despite Daniel and Katherine and the file and the rain and every ugly thing waiting beneath us, she laughed too. Then she scooped up the cat, placed her gently in the hallway, and shut the door.
She turned back to me. “I am choosing this.”
The words went straight through me. I nodded once. “Yes.”
“If I tell you to stop, you stop.”
“Yes.”
“If I hate you tomorrow—”
“You will.”
Her mouth curved in spite of herself.
“Arrogant son of a bitch.”
She crossed the room to me again, slower this time. Her hands slid up my chest. I let her set the pace. When she kissed me, the anger had not gone away. It had simply mixed with the want until both of them felt the same. I touched her carefully at first, then less carefully when she made a low sound and pulled me closer. Her dress slipped off her shoulders. My shirt came open under her fingers. We moved toward the bed without speaking. She climbed onto it first and tugged me down with her.
She was still angry. I could feel it in the way she gripped my shoulders. I gave her control where I could. I stopped when her breath hitched the wrong way. I let her set the rhythm when she pushed me onto my back and took what she needed. Her hands explored my body, remembering every ridge and curve. But Ialso held her hips when she tried to rush it, slowing her down until she made a frustrated sound and dug her nails into my chest.
“Vincent,” she said, half warning, half plea.
I sat up, pulled her closer, and kissed her while I moved with her. Her head fell back. Her hands tightened in my hair. The power shifted between us with every breath, every touch, every sharp word she muttered against my mouth.
I slid my hand between us, pushed her dress the rest of the way up her thighs, and found her panties already wet and pulled them to the side. She gasped when my fingers brushed her. I circled her clit slowly, then faster when her hips started to move against my hand.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” I said against her neck. “All that anger and your pussy is still dripping for me.”
