Chapter 391: [R18] Taboo Hours

Victoria opened the door.

The hallway light cut a thin strip across the floor and died as soon as she pulled him inside. She didn’t turn on the main switch. Her hand found the wall on the left, two fingers sliding until they hit a smaller plate, and a low amber glow came on from a lamp near the window. It didn’t light the whole room. Just enough for the outlines of things to exist.

Nash stepped in behind her. The carpet was thicker here than in the hallway, swallowing the sound of his shoes. Maybe he should have left them outside. It probably would have been better, but it was hard to think about that when Victoria was leading him by the hand, knowing what was coming. Behind them, the bass was still beating under the floor, distant now, like the party had been moved to another building. The walls were almost soundproof. Perfect for what she had in mind.

Victoria only let go of his hand to lock the door behind them. She stayed there a second with her back to him, palm flat on the wood, like she needed to get her head ready for what she had started downstairs.

Then she walked over to a low table. A glass was sitting there, untouched, water beading on the outside. She picked it up, took a sip she didn’t need, and set it back down a little to the left of where it had been. The robe slipped off one shoulder when she leaned forward. She didn’t fix it.

Nash watched her move through her own space like she was alone in it. A chair pulled slightly away from the desk. A black jacket folded over it. A pair of glasses left open on a notebook, not the usual sunglasses this time. The bed was made. Too well made for a woman who had just come down the stairs in silk to steal him in front of thirteen people.

She stopped at the foot of it anyway, and after treating him like a ghost, she turned and finally looked at him.

"Come here."

He did. Slowly. She waited until he was close enough that she didn’t have to raise her voice.

Her fingers went to his collar first. Not to undress him. To straighten it. The same little correction she had done a hundred times in hallways, in cars, before meetings with sponsors. Except this time her fingers stayed against his throat a second too long.

"You’re always this inspired when something from your past comes back," Nash said.

Victoria’s mouth moved. Almost a smile.

"Really?"

"Yeah." His hands went to her fingers. "First time was after the girls’ contracts. You finally cracked for something other than control."

"That was a long night."

"Second time was after you saw her again. Your old player."

Her fingers stopped on the fabric.

"You keeping a list?"

"I keep patterns," Nash said. "You go quiet. Then you get real active. Then you pull. Third time almost happened after the hospital with Monique."

Victoria laughed softly, more breath than sound. She finally fixed the robe on her shoulder, then untied it again on purpose, like the first move had been an accident.

"You’re not wrong," she said. "It’s annoying how often you’re not wrong."

She walked around him, close enough for the silk to brush his arm, and went to the window. Nash felt the fabric, then the empty space after it. One hand pulled the curtain just enough to let the eternal twilight in. She didn’t look at the fake sky. She looked at the dark beyond it.

"Hector wanted this room," she said, still facing the glass. "Not this one. The idea of it. Me, after hours, still in his world, after he played the perfect businessman and husband. He would have had me exactly like this. Probably with a chain around my neck. He spent years building that picture. I could feel it on me even when I owned the Midnight Rest."

Nash stayed where he was.

"And in the end, he’ll never have you."

"Yes."

She let the curtain fall. When she turned, her smile was real. Like she was enjoying a joke only two people in the Underground would understand.

"Part of me likes that he still wants it," she said. "I’m not going to pretend otherwise. After what he did to me, seeing him like that, staring at a door he’s not allowed to open. It’s clean. It’s ugly. It’s useful." She came back toward him, slower now, the silk moving against her thighs, the line of her neck and the start of her chest less and less hidden by the robe. "The other part of me would love for him to know. Not to see. I don’t want his eyes on my body. I never did. I want him to know that the thing he tried to own is in this room, with you. That you, and only you, get to do the most obscene, horrible things to the body he wanted. And that the picture in his head is as close as he’ll ever get."

Nash’s jaw tightened.

"A dream he can’t touch."

"Exactly." Her fingers found his wrist, then slid up to his forearm, feeling the heat there. "You take it apart. That’s what he would hate the most. Not just that I chose someone. That this someone puts his hands on me. That he gets to see parts of me nobody else will ever see."

She said it lightly. Then her voice dropped a little.

"Don’t look so serious. I’m not asking you to send him a letter. I know that with you, the most messed-up things somehow become addictive. So if we’re going to enjoy it, we might as well touch a few taboos."

"That’s a dangerous thing to tell me."

"Good." She smiled. "You’re good at the weirdest fetishes anyway. But mine aren’t any better."

She pulled him with her toward the desk, not the bed. Sat on the edge. The wood made a small sound. One of her heels, she had still come down in them, tapped once against the side panel and stayed there. She took his hand and put it on her waist, over the silk, and left it there like she was showing him where it belonged. The silk was warm. Underneath, Victoria was even warmer.

"My fetish," she said, "is how far you can dehumanize me. Dehumanize Hector’s dream. A revenge that isn’t even revenge, because he doesn’t get the scene."

Nash’s thumb moved once against her side. He felt the exact curve of her waist, the fabric too thin, the muscle tightening under his hand.

"And since he doesn’t get the scene?"

Victoria looked at him for a second without answering. Then she leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a real kiss yet. Softer. Just a touch.

Her perfume sat between them, new leather mixed with cigar smoke. Nash felt the heat of her mouth before the pressure. Her lips were soft, slightly open. When she pulled back, her breath stayed against his.

"The other reason is simpler," she murmured. "I want you. Like any other woman who’s crossed your path."

She opened her knees a little more. He stood between them. Then she leaned in and kissed him for real this time.

Nash felt the heat first, then the wet. Her lips opened right away. Her tongue came in, broad, a little rough, and found his without trying to be pretty. He tasted saliva, warm, a little thick, something bitter at the back. When she changed the angle, their teeth brushed.

She moaned into the kiss. The sound went straight down his throat.

Nash took the back of her neck with one hand, her hip with the other, over the silk. She pressed her chest against him. He felt the weight of her breasts through the robe, hot, heavy, and the smell right against her neck, stuck to her skin. It hit his nose more than his head.

She pulled back just enough to breathe. A string of spit stayed between them and broke on his chin.

"You have any idea," she said, breath still against his mouth, "how many times a day I stop myself from doing this. In the office. In the car. When Dahlia’s still talking and you’re standing there like I give a shit about the summary of a decision I already made."

She pulled his shirt up. He lifted his arms and let it come off. Victoria put both palms flat on his abs, her hands warm, moving up slowly, counting the muscles, stopping on a scar, her thumb pressing like she was checking it was real.

"Ever since you opened your mouth about taking me from behind," she murmured, and her voice cracked a little on the word, "I can’t think straight. You know that? You know I sit up all day with that in my head. Hector’s treasure... the thing he wanted to keep clean for himself..." She laughed against his throat. "And you want to open it. Dirty it. Fill it from the place he wouldn’t even have imagined touching."

Nash felt his body answer before his mouth did. Weight. Heat. His pants too tight just from hearing her talk like that, sitting on her own desk, the robe already open over one thigh.

"We talked about it once," he said. "Once. And you made that face."

"Because it drove me crazy." She looked up at him. Her sapphire eyes weren’t calm anymore. "Not scared. Crazy. I spent the rest of the day squeezing my knees together in my chair, thinking about you folding me open where a normal woman isn’t supposed to be open. Imagining what it would feel like to walk after. To sit down. To sign a paper and still feel that you’d been there."

Her fingers found the button of his pants. She undid it. The zipper followed. Nash breathed in through his nose when the cold air finally hit skin. She didn’t take him out right away. She put her palm against him first, over the boxers, and felt the weight, the heat, the way it was already pushing against her hand.

"Fuck," she breathed. "Always so... extra."

She pulled the boxers down.

Nash felt her fingers close around him. Cold against burning. Thumb and middle finger barely meeting at the base. Her palm slid. He felt every ring of pressure, the way she weighed him, tested him, like even that was still an inspection. She stroked him once, from the base to the head, already wet. A sound slipped out of her, the kind she never would have let out downstairs.

Then she leaned forward.

Her chest bent toward his hips. Her knees stayed open on either side of his legs. One hand around him at the base. The other on his thigh, holding herself up. Nash saw her from above: blonde hair fallen forward, one shoulder out of the robe, Victoria’s mouth opening right in front of him.

He didn’t move for a second.

It was her. The same woman who could shut a whole living room up just by walking down the stairs. The boss. And she was bent toward him, lips already shining, too beautiful in a position nobody else would ever get to see.

The urge hit immediately. Put his hand down. Take the back of her neck. Keep her there. He felt his fingers move in the air, just above her hair, and hesitate.

Then he remembered.

He had already done it. That hand. That hair. She hadn’t pulled away. She had even pushed into it.

So he did it.

His palm covered the back of her head. Victoria made a small sound in her throat, a low purr, and leaned in closer.

Her hot breath hit the head of his cock and made him twitch. Skin too sensitive. That heat passing over it without really touching.

Then her tongue.

Flat. One line from the base to the top. Nash felt the middle rougher, the edges softer. She came back to the head, licked what was already there, a small wet slk, eyes up. He watched her watch him, his hand still in her hair. She didn’t take it off. She even pushed against it a little.

Then her lips.

They closed around the first third. The inside was hotter than her tongue, tighter. A muffled nnh, around him. She went down. Glk. Pulled back. A string of spit at the corner of her mouth. Took him again. Glk. Slp. Lower.

The back of her mouth was softer, less precise. The head almost hit. A hitch in her throat.

Ghk— She purred anyway, the sound vibrating all the way down, and his hand tightened in her hair.

This time he pressed. Just a little. She looked at him, eyes too bright, mouth too wide, too red, and those sounds had nothing polished left in them.

Slp. Glk. Nnh—

Nash saw all of it. The boss on her knees on nothing, just bent over her own desk, sucking him like she didn’t have a title anymore. And she was letting him hold her there.

His hand stayed in her hair.

She didn’t go gentle after that. She dropped all the way to the base in one go, glk, her nose almost against him, then came up fast and went down again, slp—glk—slp, a rhythm too clean for a woman still pretending to be in control. Nash felt the tight mouth, her throat giving way, the half-centimeter pullback, the immediate return. A string of spit broke on every upstroke. She was still purring, nnh—nnh, the sound trapped around him.

And with those harder movements, the robe gave out.

The silk slid down her back to her waist and stopped there, pinned under her on the wood. Her breasts fell free, heavy, full. Golden skin too close to him, dark nipples already hard, slightly lifted, moving every time her head went down. Nash saw them almost hit his thigh. He saw the space between them. He saw too much.

She sped up.

Glk. Glk. Slp. Deeper. Faster. Both hands on his hips now, like she had decided to finish him right there. Nash felt it climbing too early, too low, a tight heat that wasn’t going to wait. He took her head in both hands to slow her down, to hold her a little higher.

"Wait—"

She fought it for a second, nnh, then let him. He kept her there, the head still in her mouth, and caught his breath through his nose, his cock shining between the boss’s lips.

Victoria pulled off slowly. A string of spit broke on her chin. She smiled, satisfied.

"Already?" she said. "I’m just getting started."

"You’re about to get me off before we’ve even started. Caught me off guard."

"Poor baby." She wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb. "Stop looking at me like I’m going to break. Touch me. Now."

Nash didn’t need to be told twice. He didn’t use his fingers.

He used everything.

One hand on her back, broad, running down her spine to the waist where the robe had stopped. The other took a hip, then slid lower, and finally found her ass.

As a certified ass guy, that stopped him for a second.

Heavy. Full. Hot. The flesh crushed into his palm and came back, too much for one hand. He took one side, then the other, spread them a little, squeezed them back together, felt the real weight, the smooth skin, softer at the bottom, firmer at the top.

Victoria let out a low ahh when he grabbed them for real. Not a caress. A handful. The wood groaned under her. Behind her back, the notebook slid. The water glass shivered. The glasses clicked against the desk.

There was nothing under the silk. Nothing at all. Just her.

"Fuck..." Nash swore.

He pulled her to the edge of the desk, far enough to press his cock, still wet from her mouth, against her pussy. She was already open, hot, soaked, and he rubbed in one slow stroke, the shaft sliding between her lips, the head bumping her clit. Victoria mmh— her head going back. Him hh— against her neck.

His mouth went down. The taste of her throat. The feel of her sternum. One breast taken whole. He licked, bit just barely, took the other. His hands never left her ass, squeezing, spreading, pulling back, nails there for a second too long. He dragged the head across her sternum and smeared precum there, a hot, shining line, then went back down and rubbed between her folds again, faster, schlk—schlk, the sound too clear in the room.

"Ah... Nash—"

"Fuck—"

The pen rolled and dropped behind the desk. The notebook went crooked. The glass moved another two centimeters. She was hanging onto his shoulders, her breasts crushed against his chest on every stroke, golden skin too hot, a little salty under his tongue.

"You’ve been patient all night," he said against her chest, rubbing harder. "I’m going to give it to you. All of it."

Victoria laughed.

"Finally." She took his face, kissed him dirty, then pulled him closer, her knees climbing up his sides. "Come on. Get up here. It’s mine now."

She shifted her weight and pulled him down with her onto the desk. The wood cracked. Whatever was left on the table jumped back at once. Victoria was under him and already guiding him, one hand around him, the smile still there, too sure, too pleased. Exactly the woman who had just decided foreplay was over.