Page 115 of Letters From Victor

I was aware of every inch of her as she took me in deeper with each roll of her hips. She tightened and pulsed around me in a sinful rhythm that threatened to undo me.

“Victor,” she breathed, her voice thready and fragile. Her body tensed like a drawn bow. Each movement of her hips grew sharper, more urgent. I could see it in her face—the way her mouth formed a silent “O,” the way her eyes squeezed shut as if to contain the explosion building within her.

A strangled cry tore from her throat as she climaxed, her entire body convulsing with sheer power. She dug her nails into my shoulders, leaving crescent moons of pain that only fueled my desire. She clenched and spasmed around me, pulling me deeper into her with each wave of her release.

I seized her and flipped her onto her back, not giving her a single moment to recover. Her eyes were wide and dazed with pleasure as I spread her legs wide and drove into her with a single, punishing thrust. A high, keening wail burst from her lips, mixing overwhelm and lingering ecstasy.

“That’s it,” I growled, my voice raw. “Scream for me, baby.”

“Yes!” she cried out as I thrust deep, grinding my hips to press every inch inside her. “Oh, God, yes!”

“Louder,” I commanded. “I want the whole damn city to hear you.”

Her hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white against the black-and-gold fabric. Her breasts swayed with each stroke. Her flushed skin glistened. She craned her neck, tendons standing out like cords, as she gave herself over to the moment.

“Victor!”

Her cry was my undoing. I thrust into her one final time, as deep as I could go, and held her there as my release tore through me like a bullet. My vision blurred, my muscles locked in torturous pleasure. Hot waves of ecstasy surged from my core, shooting out to every nerve ending, leaving me trembling and weak.

I collapsed onto her, my chest heaving against her breasts, my face buried in the crook of her neck. Her skin was warm and soft beneath me, her breathing slow and deep. I rolled to the side, careful not to crush her, but kept an arm draped around her waist.

She was mine. Truly mine.

She turned to face me, eyes glowing with a sated tenderness. For a long moment, we just stared at each other. I traced a finger along the curve of her hip and then up to her ribs, feeling the delicate rise and fall of her breath. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, a warm smile blooming at my touch.

“Is it real?” she asked softly. “No more hiding? No more pretending?”

“It’s real,” I replied, my voice a gentle rumble. “You’re mine. I’ve wanted you to be mine from the first moment I laid eyes on you. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“And now we can have the life we dreamed of.” She sighed wistfully. “You saved me, Victor.”

I shook my head. “No, angel. You saved yourself. I just held up a mirror so you could see what a strong, amazing woman you are.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. But you”—I pressed a long kiss to her forehead—“have saved me a thousand times over.” I peppered her hair with kisses. “Thank you, my darling, for giving me a fresh start. For believing in me.”

She looked up at me, her blue eyes catching the light like sun on the sea.

“Guys like me aren’t supposed to end up with girls like you.” I exhaled, letting the words settle. “The hero always gets the girl in the movies, and I’m no hero. Not by a long shot. I’ve never heard a story where the villain gets the girl, but maybe we’re writing one right now.”

Her lips curved into a soft, mischievous smile. “Heroes are boring.” She gently kissed me. “Give me the villain any day.”

EPILOGUE

Frank Jr.

July 2012

“I’m so glad you’re home, Frank.”

My wife, Donna, ambushed me in the entryway before I could even set down my suitcase, wrapping her arms around my waist with an iron grip. Damn, the woman could give a hug.

I pulled Donna close, breathing her in—Giorgio Red perfume and the faint trace of the tobacco she still thought I didn’t notice. Being away from her had stretched time unbearably, each day dragging out like an ache. Now, back in the warm cocoon of our home, relief hit me in a crashing wave.

“I’m glad to be home too,” I murmured, kissing the top of her auburn head. “It was a long month.”

She loosened her grip and looked up at me, her green eyes searching my face. “How are you holding up?”

---