Chapter 40.
1240 Words
The dining table was a study in dangerous proximity. Eliza sat at the head, her eyes bright with talk of floral arrangements, while Mallory and Archer sat across from each other, deep in a debate about the base's upcoming charity auction.
Briar sat trapped between the two most important men in her life. To her right sat Archer, his shoulder occasionally bumping hers as he gestured with a fork. To her left sat Victor.
If Archer was a warm, familiar presence, Victor was a dark, looming storm front. He didn't speak much, his attention seemingly fixed on his plate, but the air between him and Briar was thick enough to choke on. Every time he shifted, the scent of pine and cold air rolled over her, a silent reminder of the night before.
Victor’s expression a mask of disciplined indifference. He looked every bit the guest of honor, listening to Eliza with a polite tilt of his head. But beneath the white tablecloth, his left hand had abandoned his lap.
"Did you find a dress for the gala?" Eliza asked, her eyes bright with maternal hope.
"I did," Briar managed to say, though her voice hitched.
Victor’s hand had found the hem of her skirt. He didn’t just nudge her; his calloused fingers hooked into the fabric, sliding upward with a slow, agonizing deliberate heat. Briar’s thighs trembled as his palm flattened against her skin, moving higher, bypassing the knee, then the mid-thigh, until he was dangerously close to the lace of her underwear.
Briar’s breath hitched, her fork clattering against her plate.
"Everything okay, Bri?" Archer asked, glancing sideways at her. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Fine," she choked out, her fingers white-knuckled around the edge of the table. "Just... hot in here."
Victor didn't flinch. His expression remained a mask of stone-cold military discipline as he took a sip of water with his right hand. His left hand, however, had reached the hem of her silk underwear. He didn't hesitate. His fingers hooked under the lace, sliding upward until his palm cupped her warmth.
Briar’s eyes went wide, her vision blurring. Victor’s calloused thumb found her center, applying a slow, rhythmic pressure that was meant to dismantle her piece by piece. She could feel the vibration of Archer’s laughter through the table, his elbow inches away from her arm, while the man on her left was deep inside her personal perimeter.
Victor leaned slightly closer, his shoulder pressing against hers as he reached for the salt.
"The logistics of the gala are impressive," he rumbled, his voice low and steady, directed at Archer. "A lot of moving parts."
As he spoke, his thumb mirrored the cadence of his voice, pressing harder, circling, making her damp and desperate in a room full of people who loved her. The contrast was agonizing- the safety of her family and the raw, possessive heat of the predator marking her under their very noses.
"Was it that boutique on Main?" Mallory asked, leaning in. "They have some gorgeous silks."
"Yes... silk," Briar choked out.
Victor applied a rhythmic, heavy pressure that made Briar’s vision swim. He was looking right at Archer, nodding at a comment about logistics, while his hand was deep between Briar's legs, claiming her in the middle of her family's dining room.
The audacity of it- the sheer, possessive arrogance, was the final blow to her resolve. She couldn't breathe, let alone make small talk.
"I need to use the restroom," Briar said abruptly, her chair screeching against the floorboards as she stood. She didn't wait for a response, stalking out of the room with her heart thundering against her ribs.
Minutes later, as Briar was leaning against the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on her face to kill the fever in her cheeks, she heard the muffled sound of Victor’s phone buzzing.
"Excuse me," she heard his deep rumble from the dining room. "I have to take this. Secure line."
The heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots approached. The bathroom door opened and closed in a blur of motion. Before Briar could speak, Victor had her pinned against the locked door, his massive frame eclipsing the light.
"Your resolve is slipping, Briar," he rasped, his blue eyes obsidian in the dim light. "You lasted three minutes. I expected more from my best asset."
"You're insane," she whispered, her hands clawing at his shoulders, her fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. "My brother is ten feet away. My mother is right there."
"Then you’d better be very, very quiet," Victor growled.
He didn't waste time with a kiss. He reached down, bunching the fabric of her skirt in his fists and lifting her until her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. He found her again, his fingers replacing the pressure from under the table, but this time there was no silk in the way.
Briar let out a sharp, jagged gasp, her head falling back against the door with a dull thud. Victor immediately buried his face in her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above her collarbone.
"Tell me to stop," he challenged, his thumb moving with a brutal, expert rhythm that had her arching toward him. "Tell me you want the stable choice. Tell me you want Caleb to be the one holding you like this."
"No," she moaned, the word breaking into a sob of pure, unadulterated need. "Victor... please."
"Please what?" he rumbled, his voice a vibration that seemed to settle in her very bones. He shifted, his hand moving to the fly of his trousers. The intent was clear, dark, and hungry. "You want the General to finish the inspection?"
"Yes," she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as he entered her in one swift, possessive thrust that bottomed out, hitting the very back of her.
The sound of muffled laughter from the dining room- Archer telling another joke, filtered through the door, creating a terrifying, electric contrast to the raw, visceral heat of the bathroom. The proximity of her family made every thrust feel like a betrayal and a blessing all at once. Victor moved with a heavy, driving force, his hands anchoring her hips to him, his tattoos flexing with every movement.
Briar bit her lip until she tasted blood, her fingers tangling in his dark hair as she fought the urge to scream his name. She was being reclaimed, branded, and occupied, all while her family waited for them to return for dessert.
"Say it," he commanded, his voice a ragged vibration. "Tell me you're mine while they're sitting right there."
"I'm yours," she sobbed into his skin, her world narrowing down to the scent of pine and the crushing weight of the General. "Only yours, Victor."
As she felt the familiar, violent tightening of her climax, she lunged forward, burying her face in his neck to muffle her cries. Victor groaned, a low, guttural sound of victory as he followed her over the edge, his body shuddering against hers as he marked the territory one more time.
He stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against hers, their shared breath the only sound in the small room.
- Writer
