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I choked. “Victor! What are you saying? We can’t have sex.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know! We just can’t.”
“Oh, well, when you put it like that.” He stood, bringing me up with him. “We’re about to get married. Don’t you want to know if we click in that way?”
“I...” I chewed my lip. Why was I taking this long to say no? “I can’t believe you’re trying to get some on the first date.”
He winked. “This is what no one wants to admit. Sex on the first date tells you everything you want to know. One night with a guy who smacks his own ass and calls you by his mom’s name, and you’re blocking his number.”
“But what if it makes things more complicated?”
“More complicated than the two engagement rings you’ve got on your finger.”
I stilled.
“Yeah, your muzzled boyfriend was kind enough to fill me in on that one. Told me you would inevitably marry him because I was going to die in a fire. Nice guy,” he said sarcastically.
“Cato is not going to kill you.”
“Weird that needs to be said.”
“He’s just trying to protect me. The guys think I’m marrying you because I have to, and that’s true,” I whispered. “If it was my choice, I wouldn’t be planning a wedding at eighteen. Right now the only thing holding us together is our lack of choices, so... let’s do it. Let’s have sex.”
His brows popped. “I can’t believe I’m questioning a yes, but I gotta ask how you got there.”
“The only thing that connects us is all that we’ll lose if we call it off. Anything built on that is going to feel forced and awkward. I want us to share something else,” I admitted. “Whether it’s staying up late talking and drinking hot cocoa. Or crazy chemistry in bed.”
Smiling, Victor brushed his fingers down my arm, and laced through mine. “Come with me.”
Victor led me out of the dining room and up a spiral staircase. Excitement and nerves built in equal measure. Me and Victor? For the longest time I swore I wouldn’t let him near me with a Hefty bag condom. We were shaking hands at the altar, and maybe not even that.
It was different now. I meant what I said to him. I wanted something that was just ours that would bond us through the engagement and my relationship with the Rogues. I connected with each of my guys in different ways. Even Adonis and I shared a secret pain. It was time Victor and I shared something too.
We stepped into a room at the end of a short, golden-wallpapered hallway. It was a small space, but cozy. A king-sized sleigh bed took up the middle of the room, weighted down with a plush cream comforter and satin pillows. I padded to the bed and sat on the edge, waiting for him to join me.
Victor came in close, leaning me back onto the bed without touching me. He was built so big and sturdy—the body of an athlete. But as he lay on me, wrapping my legs around his waist, all I felt was safe and secure. Like he was shielding me from the ugliness of the world. Here on this boat with him, nothing else mattered.
Victor dipped as I rose.
“Ow!” I pulled back, rubbing my nose. It bonked on his and not gently.
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting—"
“I should’ve let you—”
We laughed.
“Let’s try that again,” Victor said, lightly kissing my nose.
I lay back, riding the goose bumps down my body as his lips pressed to mine. He kissed me firm and sweet. No hesitation or nervousness. But no rush. Victor Wilson kissed me like he had all the time in the world.
Moaning, I melted into the sheets. Shudders climbed my spine and tightened my grip on his shoulders. I had to give Victor credit. The man had brilliant ideas when the mood struck him.
I felt tugging on my side, bringing me out of my haze. “Oh, that’s not a real zipper,” I said, seeing what he was pulling on.
“What the hell’s the point of that?”
I giggled. “Women’s clothing is about style, not function. But this zipper...” I reached behind me. “Is very functional.”
“That’s a zipper I can work with. Flip over.”
Flat on my front, I kicked my legs in the air—playfully patting his bum. Victor confidently said that I was into his body... because I had two working pairs of eyes. Every inch of him was sculpted perfection. The kind of perfect that made you want to pump Martha Wilson for the truth of which lab she grew this guy in.
I am marrying the guy. It’s about time I got to see what every woman age eighteen to twenty in Regalia keeps in their clit reel—
Pain spiked through my scalp. “Ah!”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry! Your hair got caught in the zipper. Fuck, are you okay?”
