PART 1: VINCENT – Chapter 32

CONTAINS CONTENT:

Strong sexual content

Marielle wasn’t sure if Vincent was back yet or not. She only knew that evening and the announcement were both approaching fast, and after a long day at work, including a sad session with Jamie during which he spoke mostly about being confused over seeing himself dead, and one with Mateo that had been filled with a lot of odd sentence structure and concern about running into his other self, she had just enough time to go home to shower and dress.

She hadn’t seen Austin all day. In fact, she wasn’t sure he’d even been at Valorant. He was supposed to play piano at the event, so maybe he’d had a slew of things to prepare. She only knew one thing for certain: she wanted Vincent, and she wanted him tonight. 

As Marielle slipped on her green dress and slipped her high heels on, she felt a strong determination building inside of her. She put her hair up into a tight bun with loose tendrils and went to the mirror to look herself over. Something simply didn’t feel right for what she wanted to accomplish—none of it did. 

“You look pretty,” she could hear her mother say in the back of her mind.

Pretty? Pretty?

Growling, she unzipped, peeling out of the dress. She didn’t want to look pretty. She wanted to look like a sensual goddess who wanted one thing and was going to have it come hell or high water. 

She tore the doors of her closet open and found the black dress she’d worn a few years ago to the Halloween party. Slipping it on, she went back to the mirror. The dress hugged her waist and hips perfectly, and the neckline was so dangerous it hurt. The temperature was hot, and so was she.

Marielle traded the sweet makeup look for smoky eye shadow that gave her a sultry and untamed appearance, thick mascara, inner eyeliner, deep cheekbones, dark-red lips—

She stopped. Oh, no… She stared at the deep shade of red painted on her mouth and fingered her lips for a moment, wanting to wear that color but knowing exactly what it meant to Austin. He was going to have nightmares of the best kind tonight regardless of whether her lips were red or not… Still, it certainly wasn’t time to tell him that she wanted him.

She blotted the red off and dug in her drawer for a minute before finding black lipstick. She applied it and looked in the mirror, hardly recognizing herself. She was a gorgeous… slut. 

Good. Smirking, she went to her closet and pulled out a pair of black high-heeled boots. She zipped them up the side and stood in front of her bedroom mirror again. 

The last thing she did was take her hair down and fluff it a few times, letting it fall over her shoulders in waves. She wanted Vincent to find her aggressively irresistible. She wanted him to pin her down, to silence her mouth and her mind, and to wrap his fingers around her neck and gently squeeze. She didn’t want him to hurt her, she just wanted to feel his strength and know that he could.

Marielle went to her jewelry box and fished out a pair of golden bar earrings and a larger, matching pendant. The long chain meant that the bar dangled between her breasts. There was no way not to notice it. She giggled, then paused for a moment. Would he think she was wrong? Sexy? Naughty? She flicked her light off as she left the apartment. “I don’t care,” she whispered, getting into her car and driving to Valorant. 

When she made her way into the office building, she was met with Klara, whose eyes immediately widened. “Uh, don’t tell my girlfriend I was staring,” she giggled. Marielle rolled her eyes a bit abashedly. Klara was in a tuxedo with a yellow tie and that beanie she loved so much. “For real, you look amazing.”

“Thanks,” Marielle said, bouncing a little nervously. “Is Vincent here yet?”

“He’s not, I don’t think. But whatever your intentions are with that dress, you’ll have them,” Klara said with a grin. 

Tayane entered the conversation in her two-piece goldenrod dress and headphones, but all she did was look Marielle up and down and give her a nod of approval before going to Klara and putting an arm around her shoulders. “You have to sign in on the third floor, then you can come back down to the foyer.” 

Klara gestured toward an open area where round white tables had been decorated with vases of white and red roses. In the near distance, a space had been cleared for a dance floor, and a piano softly played accompanied by a string quartet. Candelabras with dripping candles dotted the foyer, giving it an enchanting atmosphere.

“Okay, thanks,” she whispered to Klara, then made her way to the glassed-in elevator that let her look out over the candlelit room. She spotted Jamie on the dance floor in a white suit, doing some kind of inappropriate jive with Tala, who was laughing at him. Mateo wasn’t doing much better in a lime-green getup that looked like he’d pulled it out of a bin at a thrift shop. Wingman waddled after him in a bowtie. 

Marielle smirked and looked away as the elevator doors dinged open. At the end of a short hall stood a table with two people she didn’t recognize, a man and a woman. Barbara stood beside them.

Marielle approached them. They asked her a short series of questions, including her full name and date of birth. They asked a few more questions regarding her powers, who she’d killed—Amir’s double—and what her plans were at Valorant. It didn’t take very long, and they scribbled her answers down on some paper before nodding at Barbara, who stiffly told her she could join everyone else.

Fate has a funny way of handling awkward situations. If you fear something, you’ll inevitably encounter it, and it’s no doubt Fate’s way of throwing you a curve ball from your worst nightmares. When Marielle got back into the elevator and the doors began to shut, a hand came through them and they opened again. On the other side? Austin. 

He took one look at her and his chest deflated. “Oh.” For such a small word, it carried with it a thousand thoughts and feelings. 

Marielle steeled herself. She’d known that she was going to see him sometime tonight anyway, right? In truth, he looked about as edible as she did; she’d never seen a suit fit a man that well in her life. It was all black, and his shirt was red. A black, gold, and red vest with a silver chain hugged him tightly, and she would be lying if she hadn’t already imagined grabbing his black tie. What was really sticking out in her mind, however, was the pair of black leather gloves he wore. Upon seeing them, her skin tingled and the hair on her arms stood up.

His earring glinted when he got into the car with her, and the doors took an agonizingly long time to close. Both stared at them in silence. 

Austin let out a ragged breath. “You’re killing me, Marielle,” he whispered. She looked away, silent. “Sure you’re not up for a quickie?” 

He chuckled, throwing her a glance. Again, she noted that eyeliner, which made her bite her lip. His quip was definitely a joke—everyone could see them and they had all of thirty seconds before they reached the first floor. She tucked her lips in, trying to hide a smirk at the hilarity of it. 

He briefly looked down. “Okay…” And that “okay” was serious, sad, and full of resignation. He knew what the entire charade was about, and his chest hurt. How he wished that he did drugs. He wanted to numb the feeling that threatened to choke him, causing bile to rise in his throat. 

Kiss her, just kiss her. Hold her against you before he can—before he claims her. Just… 

The doors opened. As if they were mirror images of each other, both briefly closed their eyes, desperate to say things that neither could get out, nor had enough time to do so.

Austin moved quickly past Marielle and toward the foyer, leaving her behind. Then he stopped, glanced up at the ceiling as if pleading to God, and turned back to her. She looked so small and unsure in the elevator. This wasn’t a fight. She’d done nothing to him… She’d done everything to him. He hung his head for a moment, all of that layered hair falling into his ocean-blue eyes, and took in a deep breath before he extended his arm to her.

She stepped out and took it. “Thank you,” she said out loud, but what she really said inside was, –I’m not trying to hurt you.

He glanced down into her green eyes. “You’re welcome.” But what he really said was, –You’re killing me, Marielle.  

He led her into the foyer and down to the tables. She took another quick glance around. Sabine was in a short black number, haunting the table that held finger foods, and occasionally taking a seat at the table next to it. Liam was with her in something that resembled a classic military uniform. 

Sasha was talking to Kiritani, who seemed to be trying to talk to Kirra. They all babbled for a moment, then fell silent again. It looked like a weird three-way that hadn’t gone as planned. Eventually, Sasha walked away and went to sit near Sabine, who ignored him to get up for another piece of shrimp. 

Klara and Tayane were happily engaged in conversation at their own table. Klara was making some kind of goalie motion with her hands as Tayane laughed heartily.

Meanwhile, Erik had asked Wei Ling to dance, and they were doing so awkwardly, considering his mechanical hands and brash personality. Wei Ling was being polite, and it showed. Her gaze kept wandering to Sasha, and Marielle could see the longing in her dark eyes.

Efia was floating in a trance near the food table. Marielle had learned long ago not to ask questions there. She glanced back at Austin and realized his gaze had been on her the entire time. 

“Dance with me?” he asked. The band was playing a soft classical piece she didn’t recognize.

“Okay,” she agreed.

He led her to the dance floor, trembling. Trembling? She narrowed her eyes at Austin, her eyebrows knitted with concern. Forcing a soft smile, he took her hand in his and placed his other hand on her waist.

The others stopped to watch as they gently swayed, maybe a bit in shock. Sabine in particular was giving her a hard stare that could be read from all the way across the room. Where was Vincent?

Marielle looked away from Sabine’s judgment and glanced around at the waiters serving drinks and bringing platters to tables. “Did you arrange all of this?” she asked. Austin nodded, his eyes moving down to her lips, then back up in half a blink. His expression was odd, like he’d noticed something. “It’s lovely,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” he replied, and his gaze was so powerful that she tried to swallow and found she couldn’t. He wasn’t blinking.

They stared at one another, deeply entranced as they moved. Austin spun her under his arm, but each movement was slow, and she decided he was definitely trembling. He gathered her against him again. The motion told her that he wanted to be possessive, but was controlling that part of himself.

–You have no idea the pain I’m in.

–I have a good idea, Austin.

–Then come home with me.

-I can’t. 

He took in a ragged breath, his eyebrows narrowing in a confused stare as his gaze roamed her face. “Can you hear my thoughts? Or am I crazy?” he asked bluntly.

Squinting her eyes at him, she gave him a questioning look and tilted her head as if something was clicking for the first time. “Can you hear mine?” she asked, bewildered.

Their eyes met again, both focused and unsure at the same time.

She spoke clearly in her own mind. –Goodbye.

His expression was achingly sad. –No, he begged.

As if on cue, Barbara stepped onto the dance floor and the music ceased. They pulled away from each other like they’d been caught, and Austin awkwardly put his hands in his pockets as Barbara introduced him as “Dr. Rancor, but also the entertainment.”

Marielle went to the nearest table and sat down next to Han, who had been watching the two of them. She gave Marielle the kind of smile that said, “You still owe me that talk.”

A blond waiter asked Marielle if she wanted champagne. She nodded, and he gave her a glass.

Forcing a smile at everyone, Austin sat at the piano and leaned toward a microphone. He swallowed and put his gloved hands to the keys, just touching them for a moment. He breathed out everything that had just happened in the last few minutes, and began to sing.

Marielle’s heart shattered. Not only did she love this song—“Touch” by Sleeping at Last—she felt it crawling up her body as his voice seemed to caress her.

The soul-piercing cry of a violin broke in, and Marielle’s gaze was drawn to the man who had just stepped into the spotlight. She had no idea how, but Vincent had joined him. She put a hand to her mouth, delighted that he was finally there.

Austin looked as if… maybe he hadn’t known that Vincent was going to join him, but he also wasn’t complaining. They played the song together well.

Marielle’s eyes filled with tears as Vincent intimately stroked the violin. She’d never heard him play before; the duet was beautiful, and the music was tender and filled with depth. 

Austin glanced at Vincent, obviously guiding him toward the next part. Vincent gave him a soft nod to indicate that he understood. Continuing to play, Austin stood and looked up again, the expression in his eyes and tone giving the impression of a fervent prayer, his pleading voice full of passion. Nothing about this looked strange or forced in Marielle’s mind, and she wondered how much of it Austin was experiencing, not just singing. Was he crying? It was hard to tell from this angle. 

When he reached the end of the song, he sat back down and leaned toward the microphone, his voice tender again. Vincent put the violin down, and the band’s violinist, an older man in a gray suit, approached him and shook his hand, taking his instrument back. Obviously, the two had had a previous conversation about this.

Vincent approached her in his navy-blue suit, his gold tattoos shining in the candlelight. “Hello, love,” he whispered. There was something horribly sad behind his words. She smiled and looked down, flushing. “That’s no look for this outfit,” he said, tipping her chin up to look at him. He leaned down and kissed her temple, his breath fanning across her ear. “You look ravishing.”

Austin glanced away from them as everyone applauded the performance. He nodded. “Thank you. I love Sleeping at Last,” he said flatly. Then he glanced back at Marielle and Vincent, who were sitting side by side now. “I love this song, too,” he said, and he gestured to the musicians. The violinist and a man with a guitar started up again as Austin sang “Disarm” by The Smashing Pumpkins.

Vincent pulled his chair a little closer to her. “Will you give me the pleasure of being in my arms for a dance?” he asked in a tender whisper, and the little wisp of dark hair that slipped free from the others and fell into his eyes made her knees press together.

She nodded, and he guided her back out to the dance floor, claiming the exact spot where she and Austin had danced just minutes ago. Austin’s eyes darted away. 

Others joined them on the dance floor, but Marielle was only vaguely aware of their presence; her mind was only on Vincent. Vincent swayed her, their bodies pressed together. He slowly dipped her over his knee, holding onto her so strongly that she didn’t feel unsteady at all. He paused there, smirking at her and momentarily glancing down at the swell of her full breasts, along with that golden, shimmering pendant. His breath tickled her flesh. His gold tattoos gleamed as he slowly brought her back up and drew her tight against him, his meaning abundantly clear: Mine. They were close enough that she could feel his body responding to her.

Marielle felt dizzy, heart rate unstable, unable to comprehend even the simplest of thoughts or feelings. Swallowing, she parted her lips lightly. “C’est de la torture,” she breathed, unable to look Vincent in the eye until she stopped speaking. She pinched the top of his tie, wanting to pull it out and lead him to the exit by it.

He narrowed his brown eyes at her. “Qu’est-ce que?”

She put her cheek to his chest, hearing and feeling the rhythmic pounding of his heart. “I think you know,” she whispered.

He nodded and looked around the candlelit room. Austin was stealing glances at them from the piano. “I have a secret to tell you,” he whispered close to her left ear.

“What kind of secret?” she asked excitedly.

“Not that kind,” he replied, trying to quell a small smile at her childlike nature. She pulled back a little, her expression full of concern. “Austin is watching us,” he explained, raising one eyebrow.

“Not exactly news,” she replied, letting him spin her gently under his arm.

He held her again. “Austin is always watching us,” he added.

“So let’s ditch him and go somewhere where he won’t follow.”

He nodded. “Top floor,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple so no one could see. “Offices.”

The left side of her mouth curved in response. She broke away and headed for the restroom, where she freshened up. When she was done, she went to the elevator. She watched the dance room steadily grow smaller, and knew Austin was probably trying to gauge where she was going. It didn’t matter; he was glued to that spot for the next half hour or so. He had already started his next song, Tove Lo’s “Habits,” and he was utterly making love to the piano as he played it.

Appropriate, Marielle thought as the elevator made its way to the last few floors, taking her away from the music—and Austin—into dreamland. Because you won’t be making love to me.

When the elevator opened on the top floor, which was dark except for dim lighting coming from the fluorescents in the ceiling, she nervously disembarked and stood by it, waiting. It was only a few minutes before Vincent came out of the car and spotted her, his brown gaze drinking in her form like she was a fine wine. He leaned his temple against the wall and stared at her desirously for a moment, hands in his pockets.

She pressed her body against his, pulling his tie out from his vest and yanking it just a tad as she turned and led him down the hall, snaking through a few partitions so that they would be difficult to find should anyone come looking.

He watched her hips most of the way with a wolfish smile as she led him into a room toward the end of the hall that was full of desks. Once they went in, he pulled Trademark from his wrist and flung the camera down by the door. It glittered and spun, detecting all around them. 

“That’s a good spot,” he whispered, straightening his collar.

Feeling her heart flutter like a teenager, Marielle reached up and took his glasses off. She giggled silently and put them on her own face for a moment, looking down her nose at him, then tucking her chin against her shoulder.

He smirked at her and shook his head from side to side. “So cute,” he mouthed.

He watched amorously as she removed them and set them down on a desk, mentally noting their placement. “Can you see?” she asked.

“I can see,” he assured her, taking a few casual steps in her direction.

He closed the space between them, hands still in his pockets, his movements slow, like a string being pulled tight. She wagged a finger at him playfully.

“Oh, you don’t want to play? Then why did we come up here?” he asked, a chuckle hanging just beyond the statement.

She bit her bottom lip and leaned over the desk she was standing behind, making her breasts the target for his gaze. “Maybe…” she said with a smirk.

He clicked his tongue at her. “Such a tease.” Then his look grew dangerously serious as he came toward her in several strong, straight-backed movements. She swallowed hard and found herself trapped in the corner.

He followed, looming over her. She felt small and vulnerable; there was nowhere she could go now. “Now all you need to know is whether or not I want you, too.”

Feigning shock, she leaned coolly against the corner, one foot on the wall. “What makes you think I want you?”

“All of this?” He gestured to her, his gaze following his hand up and down. “It’s all for me—the black, the gold.”

“Why do you think it’s for you?” She tried to repress a giggle.

Another step, closing the gap more tightly between them. “It is.” He flicked an eyebrow at her. “I know you.”

“But you don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.

He dipped his face to her a little. “Oh, but I do.”

She quivered, but hid it well. “Yeah? You want to prove that?”

His dark eyes were eating her alive. “Like I said…” He paused with one hand above her head on the wall, leaning in toward her just enough to make her squirm. “What you really want to know is whether or not I want you, too.”

Bristling, she bit her bottom lip, daring herself to say the next words. “And do you?”

He cocked his head, a small sound escaping his mouth. “Mon Dieu… was that not obvious?” He leaned in, going directly for her bottom lip, which he pulled between his lips and gently sucked before pulling back with a smacking sound and a small lick of his lips, although his expression had remained serious. “J’ai tellement envie de toi,” he whispered, his gaze hungrily fixated on her mouth as he gave her a soft, confident smile. 

Her heart hiccupped and flipped in her chest. She knew what that meant. Her bottom lip tingled with a distinct feeling of warmth and mild pain from the way he’d handled it, wanting more and yearning to be satisfied. Her mind swirled with thoughts of what would happen next.

“You want to know what I’ll do next,” he whispered, enveloping her with his eyes.

Her mouth formed a silent O as she gasped and glanced down between them, unable to quell a smile or hide the redness rising in her face and chest. “Stupid question, but… are you a mind reader? I-I didn’t know we had those.” Her cheeks felt ferociously hot.

He waited a dramatic beat. “No, I don’t read minds. Not even a little.” He leaned toward her ear, the warmth of his breath setting her skin on fire. “Although I wish I could sometimes… like now.” 

He glanced down at the fullness of her partially exposed breasts, noting how they rose and fell more swiftly with each of his whispers. 

“What now, Vincent?” she pressed shakily. “Or would you rather me call you Chamber?”

“I would rather you call me Vincent,” he replied.

 “Okay… Vincent,” she said breathlessly.

A pause as both of them stood still, staring at one another. Marielle’s pulse began to speed up again, and she gave him a look that asked what he was waiting for. 

“Just making sure you’re ready for this.”

“Oh? You think I haven’t been with men before or something?” She chuckled silently, avoiding his gaze a bit.

“No.” He hovered ever closer, his hot breath dancing across her skin. “I think you’ve never been with me,” he breathed huskily.  

Her skin prickled at these words, and the hairs on her arms stood up. A moment ago, she had been hot; now, she was cold, and her flesh rose, the thin fabric of her dress betraying and revealing her. She felt her heart stop, then begin to pound again.

———[SKIP SEXUAL CONTENT]———–

Vincent scooped her up, laid her down on her back on the desk, and pushed it into the corner so quickly she could hardly process what was happening. Marielle tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he pulled her back down with his strong arms. She pushed back, scrambling to get away, and again, he forced her, lowering himself over her part for part and pinning her wrists to the desk. He had read her eyes and knew she was playing a little, not telling him no.

Once he was atop her, she beckoned him with a desirous smile, nodding. She wanted to feel his strength and struggle a little, only to be denied freedom from the power in his arms, which she desperately wanted wrapped around her. She needed to feel silk, the fine feeling of silk, sweat, and his dark hair all over her body. She wanted to wilt for him.

 He stilled her with the weight of his body, then glided his fingers up her left thigh, occasionally stopping to squeeze a little and feel her skin. Then his fingertips slipped up into the barely-there dress and found what covered her. He hooked his fingers into the lacey material and slowly, agonizingly, deliberately, pulled it down and put it aside, once again feeling along her left leg. His gaze never once left hers.

She didn’t know when he’d unbuckled—or unzipped, for that matter—but in a handful of moments, he’d gently poked her and felt her readiness, and she gave him entry with a deep gasp that caused her to arch. He generously accepted and went as deeply as he could, filling her. 

When he came to the end, he pushed even a little more. He was completely connected to her; the feeling made her head swim as she tilted her head back, little groans escaping from between her lips.

She didn’t expect what happened next, and it froze her, first in anticipation, then confusion. He was there… but he wasn’t moving. In fact, he did nothing except stare down at her intensely without blinking an eyelash. His eyes felt like they were piercing her very soul. She searched that gaze, trying to find the words to describe his expression. Desire? Need? Maybe even love? She also sensed something that resembled sadness… but he never broke gaze, not even once. In fact, it was so long she started to count seconds in her mind.

One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… When was he going to do something?

She’d never felt this naked—exposed—in her entire life, even though they were both still clothed except where they met.

What was he waiting for? 

If she asked, she’d look dumb. She swallowed hard and glanced away. The moment she did, he took her chin tenderly in his hand and tilted it back up to his face. 

“Look at me,” he murmured. She closed her eyes, her chest beginning rise and fall like waves crashing against the shore. “Look at me,” he demanded.

She felt herself tense and start to shake. Tucking her lips inward, she opened her eyes and met his gaze, steeling herself and trying to be as brave as she pretended she was. Courage, spunk, spice… Wasn’t that why they had named her Gall?

His eyes were steady, focused… hers were unsure. Her body strained against his, wanting to move. She twitched a little, hoping to encourage his movements. He refused. He put his palms on her hips and forced her body to be still. Why? What was he doing?

Instinctively, she started to move again, and again, he stilled her hips and continued his possessive, purposeful gaze. When he stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, it quivered at his touch.

“Wh—” She tried to speak.

He leaned in and lightly bit her trembling lip, sending a rush of pleasure down her body. Her head rolled back, and she gasped. Again, he took gentle hold of her head and shifted it back to meet his gaze. His eyes ordered her, Masin… look at me.

“What are you doing?” she finally managed, actual tears forming in her eyes. It was barely a peep.

“Being daring,” he breathed against her mouth. 

Then his fingers slipped down between them, finding where she joined with him, and began to explore. She sucked air in through her teeth, knowing she’d responded to him physically… and yet, his only response was that his eyes fluttered a little, and he readjusted his head, cocking it a bit to one side as he looked at her.  

His fingers continued their gentle exploration, stroking and swirling. For the first time since he’d entered her, his eyes drifted from her face to the beauty of her chest, drinking her in.

With his other hand, he slowly peeled the dress back, revealing one breast, then its perfect twin. “Parfait,” he breathed, his breath tingling her chest. A soft smirk rested on the left side of his mouth before he bent and kissed her exposed collarbone. She had expected him to go for her breasts, but this was entirely his show. Finally, a small sound escaped his lips. He squared his shoulders; he was so in control.

A tear began to trickle down her pale cheek. He leaned over to kiss it away, then pulled back.

“What are you doing to me?” she managed, gritting her teeth as a wave of pleasure passed between them.

She began to panic as he continued his gentle ministrations, anxious for release. I’ll never not need him.  

That… that right there was the breaking point for her: the realization that this was the first time she’d ever felt this with a man… this yearning that she instinctively knew could not, and would never, be satisfied.

More tears came unbidden and flowed down her cheeks.

Another soft smirk on his part; he had her entirely. “You… will submit to me,” he growled softly between his teeth, his fingers continuing their torture. She cried out, but he put a gloved hand over her mouth and shook his head slowly, his jaw tensing. His facial expression was clear: “You will not make noise unless I let you.”

She nodded her obedience. Once again, he glanced down at her breasts, then back up to her eyes. “Unless you tell me to stop,” he added. She had no intentions of it; she was frozen in pleasure. “But you won’t,” he finished with a proud, sensuous grin. 

His hand moved from her mouth down to her neck. It couldn’t be. Hadn’t she just been thinking earlier that she wanted to know that he could hurt her like this if he wanted to?

His fingers slipped around her long neck, and he gently squeezed, showing her that he could kill her…but the pressure stopped far short of hurting or choking in any way.

“See?” he breathed against her left ear. His hot breath fanned across her skin, setting it ablaze, then cooling it a moment later, creating goosebumps. “I know you better than you think…” 

As he spoke, his head dipped forward and he began planting agonizingly slow kisses under the left side of her chin. For whatever reason, these were the words that nearly sent her over… possibly because it did seem true. He knew her. He knew exactly what she was thinking and what she wanted.

Gritting her teeth, she sucked air in and tensed, expecting the wave that would overcome her. Her hands reflexively shot up to brace herself against the cubicle walls, and again, her head rolled back. “How—? Who… who are you, Vincent?” 

“You should know,” he panted against her neck. “It’s simple, Marielle…” He pulled back, and again his eyes met hers. “You’re my wife.” 

She lost the fight for restraint. His words didn’t register, just her bodily control, rocketing her into space. The explosion was intense, and it kept going and going… and when she thought she was done, he pressed his fingers into just the right spot, and she lost all sense of reality again.

A sound came out of her that she didn’t recognize, a sound she’d never made before, and once more, he put a hand over her mouth. “No,” he hushed sternly.

She had no idea why, but his command sent pricks and needles all over her, and again, the explosion occurred. She had lost her mind. By far, this was the most intense climax she’d ever experienced in her life, and as if that wasn’t enough, he pressed into her once more, this time with his body, his hips finding the right spot and causing the release. Yet again, she went under, drowning in an abyss of pleasure.

The moment that she began to come back a little was when he finally moved, sending her into a state of rigidity. With his mouth against her neck, he began to thrust. He’d held back the entire time, enjoying his power over her, but now he was executing his need in a few perfectly rhythmic strokes. He went fully into each of them, and each one opened up a space in her similar to the one she’d felt earlier, creating a desperate need for him to be there, remain there, and never leave.

He finally gasped, and his body went firm against hers before he clamped his mouth over hers, his sounds echoing deeply into her soul. Then he collapsed against her, slick and spent.

She gasped for air, the aftershocks of desperation crashing over her. That feeling she’d experienced a few moments ago—I’ll never not need him now—was starting to cause mild panic.

As their gasps calmed, she breathed in his mix of cologne and sweat, their bodies still one and aching for more.

“H-how? Vincent… how?” she panted, sniffling; the tears had never stopped.

He swallowed and raised his eyes to hers adoringly. “It’s simple.” He paused, maybe for effect, and biting his bottom lip, he gently brushed some of her sweaty black hair back from her face. “As I said, you are my wife.”