Page 21 of Hooked On Victor
Inside, they were silent.
Unmoving.
Breathing each other in.
For tonight, that was enough.
Maybe for longer than either of them was ready to admit.
Chapter seven
Chapter 7 – Morning Light and Shadows
Rose woke slowly, clawing her way up through thick, dream-heavy dark. For a long moment she didn’t even open her eyes, just lay there listening to the world beyond the walls. Rain tapped gently at the window, softer than the battering of last night’s storm, like fingers drumming with uncertain apology. She could hear distant thunder still, low and rolling, fading further away with every second—an old grudge finally losing its voice. The smell in the room was a mix of clean damp air, salt from the cliffs below, and the grounding bitterness of black coffee somewhere close.
She inhaled deeply, the breath catching in her throat as it pulled memory with it. Her ribs expanded against the weight of the blanket draped over her bare skin. It was heavy, worn thin in places but warm, and it smelled unmistakably of leather, old cedar, and him. It was too intimate, too unguarded. The scent wrapped around her like arms that hadn’t asked permission.
Her body ached in quiet, relentless reminders. Thighs sore from bracing around his hips. The tender burn between her legsthat made her flinch with the memory of how thoroughly he’d filled her. Even her lips felt bruised from the way he’d kissed her like a man starved. She shivered once, a slow ripple that wasn’t entirely from the chill in the room.
She forced her eyes open.
The light was thin and gray, sneaking through old glass streaked with condensation. She could see the mist rising outside where the cliffs fell away to the sea, the whitecaps flashing in the breaks of cloud. The wind rattled the window frame in gusts that whistled along the seals, leaking cold drafts that raised goosebumps on her arms.
She turned her head carefully against the pillow.
The other side of the bed was empty.
But not cold.
The sheets were wrinkled and warm, the impression of his body still there like a question she wasn’t ready to answer.
Her heart thudded once, hard and unsteady.
Victor’s bed.
The thought wasn’t subtle. It crashed through her like a wave hitting rocks, cold at first but leaving behind a flush of heat.
She felt it everywhere.
Not regret.
Not even shame.
Just an uneasy knowledge settling deep in her ribs that she’d crossed something last night. Stepped over a line she couldn’t pretend wasn’t there.
This wasn’t a mistake she could walk away from cleanly.
She lay still for another moment, listening to the wind and the softer hush of the rain, trying to let it soak her in calm. It didn’t work. Her pulse fluttered high in her neck, too aware of the emptiness beside her, too aware of how badly she wanted him there again.
Finally she moved.
The blanket rasped over her skin, sending a shiver through her. She sat up slowly, rolling her shoulders, wincing at the soreness in her back. She gathered the edge of the sheet around herself like a shield, pressing the fabric to her chest and looking around the room.
It was small. Spare.
Not unlived in, but intentional in its lack of clutter.
A single old dresser with one drawer slightly askew. A battered chair in the corner with a button-up shirt draped over it. The walls were bare except for one thing: a sketch tacked beside the window, its edges curling from damp air.
