Her breath shuddered when he kissed her again, not deeper this time, but slower, as if he were teaching her a language through cadence alone.
Victor felt it immediately. The way her body leaned into steadiness. The way uncertainty quieted when given something solid to rest against.
He drew back just enough to look at her.
"Tell me if I'm going too fast," he said, his voice low, unhurried. Not because he doubted himself, but because he wanted her to hear the invitation embedded in the restraint.
"I will," she said. Then, after a beat, "You're not."
A corner of his mouth curved. Sweet, approving, warm. "Good."
He brushed his thumb along her jaw again, slower now, mapping rather than claiming. Her skin was warm beneath his touch, responsive in a way that made control feel like a discipline rather than a denial. He traced the line of her jaw, then her cheek, letting his fingers linger where her pulse fluttered.
She swallowed, eyes never leaving his.
"You look like you're thinking," she said.
"I am," he admitted. "About how carefully you're holding yourself."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," he said at once. "It's… honest."
She shifted on the bed, restless now, the boldness she'd summoned earlier pressing forward again. Her hands slid up his sides, tentative at first, then more certain, fingers splaying against his ribs as if confirming he was real.
Victor inhaled slowly.
The urge to still her hands rose sharp and instinctive. He resisted it, choosing instead to cover them with his own, anchoring rather than restraining. He guided them, gently, back to his waist.
"Here," he murmured. "That's good."
The quiet directive made her breath hitch. She didn't pull away. Instead, she nodded, as if grateful for the clarity.
He leaned down, kissing her again, lingering this time, letting the kiss stretch and soften. He broke it only to trail his mouth along her cheek, her jaw, pausing deliberately before her ear.
"You don't need to prove anything," he said softly. "Not to me."
Her eyes closed at that, lashes brushing her cheeks. "I know," she said. Then, more honestly, "I just don't want to disappear."
The admission landed deeper than he expected.
Victor straightened slightly, enough to meet her gaze fully. His hand slid to the small of her back, firm and reassuring. "You won't," he said. "Not here."
She searched his face, as if weighing whether to believe him. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her. Her shoulders eased, tension melting in increments.
"Okay," she said.
He smiled, gentle and unmistakably pleased. "Good."
He took his time then, letting the moment breathe. He brushed her hair back from her face again, slower this time, fingers lingering at her temple, then down the side of her neck. He watched the way her breathing changed, the way her attention narrowed to each point of contact.
"You're very attentive," she said quietly.
"So are you," he replied. "You notice everything."
"Only because you make it easy."
The words stirred something warm and dangerous in him.
He kissed her once more, then pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. "If you want me to stop asking," he said softly, "you can tell me that too."
She smiled faintly. "I don't want you to stop."
Victor's thumb brushed the edge of her jaw again, a subtle acknowledgment. "All right."
He shifted closer, close enough that she could feel his presence without being crowded by it. His hand slid up her back, pausing deliberately at her shoulder blade, as if checking in without words.
Her fingers tightened at his waist.
"You're doing that on purpose," she said, not accusing. Curious.
"Yes," he admitted, smiling.
"Why?"
"Because it helps you stay present."
She considered that, then nodded. "It does."
He leaned in, kissing her again, letting the warmth and closeness build gradually. He paid careful attention to her responses, the way she leaned into certain touches, the way she grew bolder when given time. When she kissed him back with more confidence, he rewarded it with a low murmur of approval.
"That's it," he said softly. "You learn quickly."
The praise sent a visible shiver through her. She laughed under her breath, half embarrassed, half pleased. "You make it sound like a test."
"No," he said. "An experience."
She smiled at that, something bright and unguarded. Her hands slid up his chest now, exploring more confidently, curiosity overtaking nerves. Victor let her, resisting the urge to direct, content to observe how she moved when given room.
"You're very patient," she said.
"It's a skill," he replied lightly. "One I value."
She tilted her head, studying him. "And control?"
He met her gaze evenly. "Also a skill."
The honesty in that made her breath catch.
He leaned in again, kissing her slowly, deliberately, letting the tension coil rather than break. He drew the moment out, savoring the way her confidence grew within the space he created for it.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was low, steady. "We don't need to go any further than this if you don't want to."
She shook her head, smiling now, boldness reclaimed. "I want to."
Victor nodded once, a quiet acknowledgment.
"Then," he said gently, brushing his lips against her cheek, her jaw, lingering just enough to make her inhale sharply, "we'll keep taking our time."
And as the night stretched before them, unhurried and intentional, Victor felt the exquisite tension of holding himself back, of letting want sharpen into something far more dangerous than haste.
Something chosen.
The removal of clothing began not as an escalation, but as an agreement.
Victor felt it in the way her attention sharpened, the way her breathing steadied as if she had decided to stay present no matter what nerves flared beneath the surface. She watched him closely now, not searching for reassurance, but tracking his movements, learning his rhythm.
He lifted his hand to the hem of her sweater and stopped there.
A pause. A question offered without words.
She nodded once.
That was all he needed.
He slid the fabric upward slowly, deliberately, giving her time to feel every inch of the movement. Her arms lifted instinctively, then stilled, as if she'd realized she didn't need to help unless she wanted to. The sweater cleared her shoulders, and he drew it off with care, folding it over his arm rather than discarding it.
The details mattered to him.
He watches as she slowly exhaled, the cooler air touched newly exposed skin. Her bra was simple, a dark shade of purple. He could see the pale skin of her chest and stomach, the top of her jeans resting just below her belly button.
She wrapped her arms around herself for a heartbeat, then let them fall, chin lifting with quiet resolve. Her long hair falling forward like a shield.
Victor watched the moment with focused intensity, noting the way vulnerability passed through her like a tide she refused to retreat from.
"You're doing very well," he said softly. His hands came up and gently pushed her hair back, drawing her eyes back to him.
Not praise for undressing. Praise for staying.
Her smile was small, but real. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
He removed his shirt next, unhurried, movements economical. She watched him with the same careful attention he'd given her, eyes following the lines of him as if memorizing what she could. The balance of power shifted subtly there. He felt it and welcomed it.
He knew what she could see, the dusting of hair on his chest, the tattoos that snaked down his arms and across his back. Victor could see the twitch of her fingers, knowing she probably had the urge to touch them. He looked forward to it.
When he stepped closer again, she reached for him first.
Her fingers found the top button of his pants, hesitating only long enough to test her confidence. Victor covered her hands with his, warm and steady, guiding rather than correcting.
"Like this," he murmured, voice low, encouraging.
She followed his lead, unfastening the button, gripping the top of the zipper pull and pulling it down slowly. Each small motion seemed to quiet her nerves further, boldness replacing hesitation through action rather than thought. When the pants hung loose on his hips, she paused, palms resting flat against his chest as if grounding herself there.
Victor resisted the urge to close the distance entirely.
He leaned down, kissing her temple, then her cheek, a gentle reward rather than a demand. "You don't need to rush," he reminded her.
"I know," she said. Then, softer, "I don't want to stop."
He smiled against her skin.
He slipped his pants off and set it aside with the same care he'd shown her things. The room felt warmer now, charged in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. He could feel the tension coiling tighter, anticipation thickening the air.
Her hands moved again, more confident now, tracing lines she hadn't memorized yet. Victor let her explore, staying still, allowing her to set the pace. He watched her closely, the way she bit her lip when she realized how close they were to something irreversible.
When he reached for her again, it was slower still.
He unfastened the top of her pants, slowly pulling them over her hips, pausing often, watching her face for any sign of doubt. Each inch of fabric removed felt less like undressing and more like unveiling, intimacy built not on urgency but on intention.
At one point, she laughed softly under her breath, the sound half nerves, half wonder.
"What?" he asked quietly.
"I just… I didn't think it would feel like this," she admitted.
"And how does it feel?"
She met his gaze, unflinching now. "Like I'm allowed to be here."
The words struck deeper than he expected.
Victor leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, breathing her in. "You are," he said. "Completely."
When they finally moved toward the bed together, it was without haste.
Clothing was set aside piece by piece, not discarded, each removal a small, deliberate step deeper into shared space. By the time they paused again, standing close in the low hotel light, the outside world felt impossibly distant.
Victor cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her cheeks. "We can stop here," he said once more, voice steady, sincere.
She shook her head, smiling with quiet certainty. "I don't want to."
He kissed her then, slow and lingering, letting the moment stretch until it could hold no more without tipping into something else entirely.
And when they finally sank down together, bodies close, breaths aligned, Victor allowed the scene to soften, to hover on the edge of what came next, knowing the night would unfold at its own pace.
Consensual.
Contained.
And dangerous in the way only intimacy could be.