Page 91 of Love so Cold

"Okay, what are we watching?" she asks, emerging from the bathroom, her silhouette haloed by the dim light.

"Whatever you want," I say, because really, it's not about the movie. It's about this moment with her, andhowever many we have left before daylight breaks the spell.

Avery steps out, and I forget how to breathe. She's caught in the soft glow of the lamp, wearing that satin slip that clings to her like a second skin. My tongue ties itself into a thousand knots. "Wow," is all I manage before my voice gives out.

"Stop, you'll make me blush," she says, though she's already turning a delicate shade of pink. She scurries to the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. "So, movies. What's good?"

"Uh, anything." My gaze lingers on her, the TV forgotten for a moment. But I shake myself out of it and grab the remote, scrolling through the channels. Avery leans over, pointing at a rom-com that's just starting. "That one works."

"Perfect," she agrees, settling back against the pillows. The wine in our glasses catches the light as we sip and watch, the film playing out its predictable dance of love and laughter.

I can't stand the space between us anymore. My arm lifts almost of its own accord, draping around her shoulders and pulling her in close. She tenses briefly, surprise flashing across her face.

"Sorry," I mutter, the word rough around the edges. "I just— I'm not trying to rush things. I mean, I don't want to push, but..." I trail off, my heartthumping loud enough to drown out the movie dialogue. "I want you, Chestnut. Can't pretend I don't."

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and deep, like pools I could fall into and never want to climb out. There's a beat, two, where the world teeters on a knife-edge, then she nods, her lips curving ever so slightly. "Okay."

Chapter Forty-Nine

Avery

The moonlight filtersthrough the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. I'm lying in bed when Victor's strong arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer to his warmth. His breath tickles the back of my neck as he murmurs into my hair, "I want you, Chestnut. Can't pretend I don't."

A shiver runs down my spine—not from the chill of the night but from the raw need in his voice. My heart hammers against my chest, echoing his desire with an intensity that scares me. Yet, I can't stop the way my hand moves on its own accord, tracing lazy patterns across the landscape of his bare chest. The muscle beneath his skin ripples at my touch, and it feels like touching fire—dangerous but impossible to resist.

"Okay," I whisper, my voice unsteady. I should push him away, remind him of the boundaries we're supposed to have. But instead, I lose myself in the heat of his body and the scent of his cologne.

His gaze locks onto mine, and it's like he's searching for something—permission, maybe, or reassurance. A strand of my hair has fallen across my face, and he brushes it away with a tenderness that contradicts the urgency pulsing between us. Blue eyes, usually so piercing, now flicker with a storm of emotions that he struggles to contain.

"Say something," I urge softly, caught in the gravitational pull of his internal conflict.

But words fail him, and I see it—the moment he decides to let actions speak instead. His lips crash against mine in a kiss that steals my breath and banishes all thoughts of resistance. It's deep and consuming, and I melt under the onslaught of sensations—his taste, his touch, everything about him overwhelming and addictive.

"Victor," I gasp when we break apart for air, my mind spinning. This shouldn't be happening, not with the world outside these walls threatening to tear us apart. And yet, here we are, finding solace in each other’s arms, if only for a fleeting moment.

The kiss deepens, and I'm lost in the rush of it all. Victor's weight presses down on me, grounding and intense. There's no hesitation left in him, only need thatechoes my own. I can't remember the last time I wanted something—or someone—this badly.

"God, Avery," he murmurs against my lips, voice rough with desire. His hands roam over me, urgent and possessive, as if he can't get close enough.

"Victor," is all I can manage to say, but it's enough.

He shifts, his body aligning with mine in a way that's almost too perfect. When he enters me, it's like every nerve ending ignites. There's no slow build-up this time; it's all-consuming and relentless. The feeling of him moving inside me, powerful and insistent, has me clawing at the sheets.

"More," I breathe out, barely recognizing my own voice.

He obliges without a word, turning me over with a careful yet determined motion. Propped up on my hands and knees, I feel him reenter from behind, and it's even more intense than before. Every thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through me, and I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. I don't want to wake any of the others in the apartment, but damn, Victor makes it hard to stay quiet.

"Quiet, baby," he whispers, reading my struggle as he drives into me, his hand slipping around to steady my hip. "I've got you."

And he does. In this moment, he's everything—the anchor in the storm of sensation, the warmth in the cold night, the trust in a world full of doubt. Even with ourcomplicated past and uncertain future, right now, it's just us, connected and raw and real.

With a shared, desperate urgency, Victor shifts us again. Now I'm on top, straddling him as his mouth finds me. The electric pleasure of his tongue has my head spinning, and I lean forward to return the favor.

"Victor," I gasp between breaths.

"Shh, Avery," he murmurs against me, his voice vibrating through my core.

His hands grip my thighs, guiding me, encouraging my movements as I take him in my mouth. It's a dance of give and take, each of us pleasuring the other with fevered passion. His taste, his scent—it’s intoxicating, and I lose myself in the rhythm we create together.

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