Chapter 8
Elise's POV
I was caught off guard.
"Your thing?" I stepped closer, meeting those gray-blue eyes, "Victor, don't you think your possessiveness is a bit too much?"
Victor's gaze turned dangerous.
He probably didn't appreciate being spoken to in that tone.
He wrapped one hand around the back of my neck and pulled me toward him forcefully. I crashed against his body.
The scent of pine on him had been tainted by the sickly sweet smell of red wine in the room, the gunpowder residue, and the metallic tang of blood, becoming complex and indistinct.
He leaned in close, his lips nearly touching mine, and murmured, "From the moment you walked into that apartment, you lost the right to refuse."
Victor began kissing me fiercely, almost suffocatingly.
My feeble resistance meant nothing to him—it only succeeded in smearing the blood from my wound across his clothes.
Victor didn't care at all that the bloodstains were ruining his expensive tailored suit. Instead, he yanked off his tie, bound my hands with it, and laid me down on the sofa.
His index finger traced from my neck, over my collarbone, slipping into my cleavage, and gently tugged at my bra.
"Elise." Victor's voice grew even more husky and low with desire, "If you're planning to use your body to climb up, you should at least know your place, don't you think?"
I felt heat rising behind my ears.
I couldn't tell if it was from his deliberate provocation or the humiliation in his words.
"That's right." I stared into his eyes, unwilling to show him any vulnerability, "If that's what you want, I don't mind."
I lay on the sofa, bent my legs, and let my knee brush suggestively between his thighs.
When I passed over the prominent bulge at his groin, I paused slightly, satisfied to hear a muffled gasp escape from Victor's throat.
Victor kissed me again, but this time he stripped off my clothes with almost desperate urgency.
I lay on the sofa, looking up as he tore off his own clothes roughly.
Though I'd seen it once before, his muscular and beautifully sculpted body was still captivating.
Victor was clearly well aware of his body's appeal.
He pulled me up, positioning me so I could straddle him.
Though he said nothing, the desire in his eyes told me plainly what he wanted.
I smiled and leaned down to kiss him.
My fingers traced down from his chest muscles, then both hands gripped his already erect cock.
Whether it was the dried blood on my hands or his own secretions, the texture felt sticky and scorching hot.
Victor's hand caressed my breast while his other hand unconsciously pressed against my waist, seemingly impatient to go further.
"Victor, you're different like this than usual."
"Am I? What am I like usually?" Victor panted, his tone somewhat teasing.
I leaned close to his ear and said in a low voice, "If I remember correctly, the Church's upper echelon isn't supposed to—"
Victor thrust his hips upward, cutting off my words.
His tip brushed against my labia, and I could feel the heat and wetness that instant brought.
We both moaned softly, almost simultaneously.
As if caught in the guilt of this forbidden pleasure, Victor's ears flushed noticeably red, showing a rare hint of bashfulness.
This intrigued me greatly.
I didn't want to wait any longer. I gripped his cock and aligned it with my entrance.
Victor, already impatient, wouldn't give me any more chance to tease—his hands gripped my waist and forcefully pushed me down.
His massive cock stretched me open inch by inch, making me instinctively hold my breath.
I clenched my teeth, adjusting to the fullness he brought, then slowly began to move.
Victor's hands gripped my waist, guiding my rhythm, sometimes forceful, sometimes slowing down.
I could feel his gaze constantly on me—from my heaving chest, to my sweat-dampened hair, to my lips parted slightly from pleasure.
The way he looked at me wasn't like looking at a bed partner.
It was more like examining something that belonged to him.
Moonlight streamed through the shattered floor-to-ceiling window, bathing our bodies and coating our entwined forms in a layer of cold white.
Professor Miller's sofa, which I had wrinkled, was now covered in sweat and bloodstains.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of sandalwood, red wine, blood, and lust.
Chaotic, decadent, dangerous.
Victor suddenly flipped me beneath him, quickening his pace.
My fingers dug into his shoulders, nails sinking into his flesh.
His movements grew heavier, each thrust turning my mind blank.
I bit down on his shoulder, tasting sweat and blood.
Victor let out a low, muffled grunt, but instead of pushing me away, he thrust even harder.
At the last moment, he stopped, lifting me from the sofa and pinning me against the wall frame of the half-shattered window.
The cold metal frame pressed into my back while his chest burned hot against my front.
He thrust a few more times, nearly losing control, then his entire body tensed.
A low, muffled groan escaped his throat.
His forehead pressed against mine, his breathing rough and scorching.
I could feel the heat of his release inside me.
Several seconds of silence.
Only the sound of two people panting, and the distant night wind whistling through the broken window.
Then Victor released me.
He stepped back, looking down at himself.
His shirt was wrinkled, his tie gone, his suit jacket stained with my blood, his pants hanging loosely on his hip bones.
He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
Then he looked at me.
After the desire faded, his eyes returned to that cold gray-blue, like the sea after a storm.
"I'll handle Miller's situation," he said, his tone returning to its usual calm, "You don't need to worry about him anymore."
I leaned against the window frame, arms crossed over my chest, saying nothing.
He began straightening his shirt, putting it on methodically, buttoning it one button at a time.
"But there's one condition."
He said.
I looked at him.
He finished buttoning the last button, lifted his head, and those gray-blue eyes looked straight at me.
"Leave Liam."
I said, "What?"
"Leave him." He repeated, his tone flat, as if commenting on nice weather.
"I don't like my things staying with someone else."