Page 75 of Love so Cold

"God, Avery," I say between kisses, my voice rough with emotion.

"Victor..." She trails off, almost hesitant, but then she's pulling me closer again, sealing any distance that had threatened to wedge between us.

Every moment we spend locked in this embrace, I wait for the axe to fall, for her to remember who I am — the man whose company might tear down the world she's built. But it doesn't happen. She's here, present, and so damn open that it feels like a challenge. One I'm ready to accept.

Her small house, a fortress against the world she's learned to mistrust, becomes a sanctuary for us both. And as we move together, each kiss a promise neither of us might be able to keep, I start to get why she clings to this place, to the life she's carved out with stubborn hands and a heart too big for the city that's let her down.

"Is this okay?" I ask, my words muffled against her skin.

"More than okay," she whispers back, her fingers tangling in my hair, holding me close as ifshe could make me part of her home, part of her world, with just the strength of her grip. And hell, maybe she can.

"Let me stay," I plead, not sure who I'm asking — her, the fates, or myself.

"Then stay," Avery answers, and for the first time, I think I just might.

"Where's the bedroom?" The words tumble from my lips, husky and thick with a desire I can't rein in.

"Down the hall," Avery says, her voice a soft echo to the thundering of my heart.

I carry her through the maze of her life, feeling the weight of her trust as she wraps herself around me. The hallway is lined with pictures that bleed history — moments captured in time — leading us to a room that feels like it's been waiting for us. It's small, the air heavy with the scent of lavender and something unmistakably Avery.

The queen size bed beckons, and I lay her down as if she's the most precious thing I've ever held. She looks up at me, those wide eyes a mirror to every fear she won't voice. "Do you want to stop?" I ask, because it matters, because her yes or no means more than my own need.

She shakes her head, a tiny motion that sends relief crashing through me. This isn't just about me; it's about her too, about this fragile thing we're weaving together out of kisses and whispered promises.

Taking my time, I peel away her clothes, each layer revealing more of her — not just skin, but strength,vulnerability. Avery, the artist, the mother, the woman who's burrowed into my very bones without even trying. She's got muscle from years of carrying burdens alone, and curves that speak of a softer, gentler side she rarely lets show.

My teeth graze the outside of her thigh, playful, testing. She gasps, a sound that tightens everything inside me, then giggles, and the sound is so damn unexpected I can't help but laugh with her. It's a moment of lightness in the storm of our desire, a reminder that this, us, it's real and somehow still tinged with innocence.

"Victor," she breathes out my name, and it's an anchor, a siren song, a warning. Everything all at once.

"Yeah?" I murmur, looking up at her, memorizing the way the dim light paints her skin gold and throws shadows across the canvas of her body.

"Nothing. Just... don't stop."

"Never," I promise, and I mean it. Because stopping now would be like trying to unlearn her name, like forgetting the feel of ice beneath my skates — impossible.

I cup her breasts, and Avery's moans fill the room, raw and beautiful. Her skin is warm under my hands, soft and inviting. Leaning down, I take my time, worshipping each inch with my lips, feeling her body arch into the touch. The taste of her skin is intoxicating, a hint of salt and something uniquely Avery.

"Victor..." she breathes out, her voice laced with a need that echoes my own.

"Shh," I whisper against her skin, trailing kisses lower. I'm hard, so damn hard, but this moment is about her pleasure, her release. I want to watch her unravel under me.

I find the place where her thighs meet, and my lips settle there, teasing, tasting. She's wet, and God, the flavor of her is addictive. She responds to every flick, every suck—her body moving with a rhythm that drives me wild. My name falls from her lips like a prayer, over and over, and it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

"Victor, please," she gasps, and I know she's close. I double my efforts, determined to bring her over the edge. And when she comes, it's with a shudder that rocks through her entire body, her cries filling the room, filling me with an indescribable sense of triumph.

Breathless, she reaches for me, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. "Let me," she murmurs, and I lift my arms, letting her strip away the barriers between us. Her touch is hesitant but eager, exploring the scars and stories etched in my skin. Each piece of clothing she removes is another step towards total vulnerability, a place I haven't been in too damn long.

"Are you sure?" I ask, needing to hear it from her, needing that affirmation.

"More than anything," she assures me, her eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unwavering.

The warm, damp air between us is thick with desire as she takes me into her mouth. Her lips are soft, the heatunbearable in the best way. "Avery," I breathe out, a warning and a plea tangled together, my hands tangling in her chestnut locks.

"Wait," I say, pulling back before I lose myself completely. She looks up at me, confusion and lust swirling in her eyes. "Do you have?—"

"Shit," I mutter when I realize I don't have a condom on me.

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