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“You said the jam was a good idea,” Harper reminds her in a mischievous voice.

She dips her fingers back into the jar of blackberry jam, scoops up a generous amount of the sweet fruit, and spreads it directly over Victoria’s swollen, sensitive clitoris, working her way down toward her labia.

Victoria lets out a curse in French that makes Harper smile with pride.

Harper doesn’t keep the wildcat waiting. She leans forward and plunges her tongue straight into Victoria’s center.

The taste is an intoxicating combination: the tartness of the blackberry mixed with the warm, musky essence of the woman she’s loved for a decade. Harper works the area with absolute devotion. Her tongue licks away the jam, circling Victoria’s clitoris before taking it between her lips to suck gently at first and then with ravenous hunger.

Victoria’s surrender is complete. Her body shudders against the kitchen island as Harper’s tongue slides into her opening, tasting her wetness before returning to the source of her pleasure. Harper slides two fingers into Victoria’s tight opening, mimicking the rhythm she’d set earlier, while her mouth shows no mercy.

Harper intensifies the suction of her mouth, accelerating the movement of her fingers inside Victoria to a frantic pace. She feels the inner walls contract wildly around her fingers, the muscles in her thighs tense, and an epic shudder course through Victoria from head to toe.

Victoria breaks. Her orgasm explodes in a brutal jolt that makes her scream Harper’s name at the top of her lungs—a liberating scream. Her hips convulse as she releases a wave of heat that soaks Harper’s mouth, and Harper doesn’t stop licking and swallowing until the last tremor subsides completely.

Harper remains kneeling between her legs for a long minute, resting her cheek against Victoria’s inner thigh, feeling the rapid pulse still throbbing beneath her ex-wife’s skin.

Victoria’s eyes are closed, her arms outstretched, and her chest rising and falling as if she’d just run the New York Marathon. A smile of pure satisfaction and exhaustion plays on her full lips.

Slowly, Harper stands up. She wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling at the faint trace of blackberry and moisture left on her skin. Victoria opens her eyes, clouded by the afterglow of pleasure, and reaches out her hand.

Harper leans over her, lying partially beside her in the open space on the island. Victoria immediately wraps her arms around her, pulling her close to her naked body, heedless of the jam, the mess, or the morning chill.

“You’re ruthless, Brooks,” Victoria murmurs, kissing the tip of her nose.

“I learned from the best,” Harper replies, tracing the line of Victoria’s neck, where a small purple mark still lingers, promising to turn into a perfect hickey.

Victoria lets out a soft chuckle, one of those relaxed laughs Harper hadn’t heard since their early years of marriage. She rests her chin on Harper’s head.

“Look at this,” Victoria says, glancing at the chaos in the kitchen.

“A perfect mess,” Harper remarks.

“No,” Victoria corrects her, lifting her chin to force her to look at her. “It’s the only certainty I need. There’s no threat from Eleanor, no job worth having if I can’t have this when I come home.”

Harper feels her eyes welling up with tears again, but this time they’re tears of quiet, absolute happiness. She leans in and gives her a gentle kiss on the lips—a kiss that tastes of blackberry jam and an eternal promise.

The kitchen wall clock reads seven in the morning. Before long, they’ll both be wearing their finest suits, striding confidently across the marble floors of the Velvet & Silk offices, and shattering Eleanor Sterling’s plot in front of the entire board of directors. But as the autumn sun finishes bathing their apartment’s kitchen in light, Victoria and Harper remain embraced on the table, knowing that the greatest victory of their lives has already been won before they even leave home.

Chapter 25

Victoria Vance walks through the doors of the Velvet & Silk boardroom with Harper Brooks by her side, a combination of discipline and overwhelming charisma.

As she crosses the threshold, Victoria sees the board members look up from their folders. Several investors shift in their chairs. And in the back, at the center of the table, Eleanor Sterling stops mid-sentence, her red lips parted slightly.

Victoria savors that moment of bewilderment. A small, private pleasure before the carnage begins.

“Good morning, everyone,” Harper greets them.

Victoria sets the dossier on the table and flashes a smile at everyone before saying:

“We really appreciate you taking the time to meet with us. We know your schedules are very tight, so we’ll get right to the point.”

It takes Eleanor barely a blink to regain her composure. She’s been pulling the strings of New York fashion for decades and knows that showing weakness at a table full of partners can be tantamount to attracting sharks.

“I didn’t recall this meeting including a two-person presentation,” Eleanor remarks, raising an eyebrow.

Victoria holds her gaze without blinking.