Page 14 of Going Viral for Christmas
“Is that an invitation?”
“Only if you beg.”
Oh, shit. Of all the things I could’ve said, I basically handed him a loaded innuendo and dared him to pull the trigger.
My words linger between us, dripping with temptation, and IknowSoren’s preparing his response. Sure enough, his eyes light up, and that mischievous grin unfurls as though it’s been waiting all day for this exact setup.
“Doyoubeg, Ava?”
The question coils around my throat, silk and smoke and heat, pulling tighter with every heartbeat until I can’t breathe, let alone answer.
“Chances are, you’d fight it,” Soren continues. “Pretend you’re above it. But when you finally break beneath my touch…” His eyes drag over me like he’s watching it happen.
I swipe a strand of hair from my eyes, then flatten my palms against the table.
“You’d be poetry,” his voice darkens, “breathless, un-fucking-forgettable.”
Someone in the crowd gasps. Might’ve been me.
“Imagine it, Ava… or better yet, let me show you.”
Momentarily stunned, I stop breathing.Who says shit like that?
His smirk deepens. Case in point. SorenWhorenPembry, that’s who.
“If youreallywant to see whatfanservice with a swordcan do, I’d happily tie you to that four-poster bed you love to write about. Stripyou slow. Kiss you slower. Then worship your moans as gospel. You won’t be able to walk once I’m done.”
The silence is deafening. People in the audience are live-streaming my internal meltdown. My uterus side-eyed me, then whispered,You brought this on yourself. And Soren leans back and sips his water like he didn’t just verbally fuck everyone within a five-mile radius.
Set.
“I—Y—You can’t say that on a live panel.”
Unapologetic, he shrugs. “You started it with the name-calling. I just finished it. Besides, the conference asked for a panty-melting experience. I deliver.”
“Notmypanties, Pembry,” I blurt, immediately regretting it.
Soren pauses, the pounces. “Are you admitting I’ve got your attention… where it counts?”
Match.
In that exact second, my brain decides to betray me with a mental highlight reel of Soren Pembry on his knees, murmuring filth against my clit while my thighs practically levitate. Tongue, fingers, that deep, growly voice of his, telling me to stay still while he ruins me in chapters.
Abort. Abort mission.
My core clenches so hard I nearly black out.Nope. No. Bad brain. Naughty vagina.We arenotenvisioning oral fixation in front of hundreds of people. Pull it together, Ava.
I’m overheating—no thanks to that visual.
Shifting in my seat, I press my knees together like that’ll stop the traitorous flare building beneath my skin. My palms are useless—clammy, restless—so I drag them down my dress to give them something to do.
When I risk a glance up, Soren’s looking right at me, the corners of his mouth tilted like he’s enjoying the show.
In no rush to stop, he studies every fidget, breath, and flutter of my lashes. It’s making me severely uncomfortable, but Icannotlet him see that I’m falling apart inside.
“Soren, I’ll say this…” My tone is slightly higher than usual. “...some of us prefer our fiction with a functioning moral compass and pants that aren’t vacuum-sealed.”
“Vacuum-sealed?” He twists the cap off a water bottle and takes a swig. “More like battle-ready. Every blade needs a sheath, after all.”
