Chapter 3

I was already tipsy, and his fierce, commanding kiss left my mind blank.

My breathing quickened, his taste mixed with faint whiskey on my lips, nearly stealing my air.

"Wait..." I turned my head, gasping. "There's a camera."

He paused, his forehead against mine, breath hot.

Following my glance to the corner's security camera, he didn't let go but turned me to shield me from it and kissed me again.

His actions forced me to cling to his waist, pressed fully against him.

This kiss was softer but more lingering.

The elevator dinged, and he slowly pulled back.

I leaned into his chest, legs too weak to stand, held up by his hand on my waist as the doors opened.

The hallway carpet was thick, muffling our steps.

My fingers trembled as I fumbled for the room key.

Victor took it from me and swiped the door open.

As the door cracked open, he called out. "Sylvie."

I looked back, his eyes serious in the dim light. "If you regret this now, I can still stop."

"Regret what?" I tilted my face up, emboldened by the alcohol.

I hooked his tie, pulling him closer. "You kissed me so hard, and now you talk about stopping?"

Victor laughed, a low rumble from his chest that buzzed my ears.

His rough fingertips brushed my slightly swollen lips, making me shiver. "Then regret's off the table."

His voice was hoarse, teasing my ear like a feather.

I didn't yet grasp his meaning, only felt my heart pounding wildly.

When he pushed me through the door and pressed me against the cold wall, panic crept in.

Our first time, Victor didn't even make it to the bedroom.

The wall's hard surface dug into my back, uncomfortable.

I let out a small whine and bit his shoulder. "Victor, you're too rough. Can you be gentler?"

His gaze burned, and his hot palm cushioned my back.

His scorching lips grazed my neck. "Sylvie, I'm struggling to hold back..."

His kisses trailed down to my collarbone.

I clutched his shirt, nails nearly tearing the fabric.

My mind swam in a haze until ten minutes later, when Victor carried me to the bedroom.

Then I understood what he meant by "struggling."

He flicked on the bedroom light, warm yellow glow spilling over us.

He set me gently on the bed, and I rolled onto the pillow, laughing.

"Victor," I said, glancing at him, lashes damp. "How long has it been since you were with a woman?"

He was loosening his tie, paused, and looked at me with a half-smile. "No time for that. Been busy with work since graduation."

I froze, my laughter fading.

The alcohol cleared, and I searched his eyes for a hint of a joke.

His gaze was earnest, no trace of teasing.

I realized it was his first time.

Something hit my heart, sour and heavy.

Tears welled up, and I turned away, burying my face in the pillow, voice muffled. "I'm sorry, Victor..."

"Sylvie, what are you saying?" He noticed something was wrong and leaned close, reaching for the pillow.

I gripped it tightly, tears soaking the pillowcase.

He didn't force it away, instead lying beside me, gently patting my back.

His movements were clumsy but tender.

"I shouldn't have started this," I said, sniffing. "I didn't know..."

I hadn't expected his seriousness or that I'd treat someone so genuine so carelessly.

His hand paused, then he leaned down, easing the pillow from my arms. "You already started it."

He cupped my face, making me look at him.

His eyes were steady, free of blame or disdain, only sincere.

"Sylvie," he said, wiping my tears with his thumb, touch light. "You started this, so you've got to see it through. No backing out now."