CHAPTER 79: THE TASTE OF SIN AND BETRAYAL

André’s lips moved slowly against hers, like a man drinking from a forbidden cup. His mouth pressed harder, then softer, like he was trying to taste every part of her lips, every breath that left her throat. His kiss wasn’t rushed—it was hungry, deliberate, as though he needed it to live. Vivienne kissed him back without thought, her brain refusing to make sense of what was happening. She couldn’t process a damn thing.

Her body was hot, trembling, useless. Her mind screamed at her to stop, but her mouth betrayed her, opening for him, answering him. The taste of him lingered on her tongue, salt and heat and danger, everything she swore she hated, yet she leaned closer. His kiss was relentless, dragging her into a place she didn’t want to go, but her body leaned into it anyway.

He kissed her until her knees wobbled, until she was clutching at the chaise like a drowning woman. Her chest heaved against his, her breasts pressing into him with every desperate breath. His hands didn’t stay still. He grabbed her thigh and lifted it against his hip, pressing her skirts up with one motion. The sound of fabric shifting filled the quiet room, wicked and sharp in the silence, and then his hand was there, sliding through layers of petticoats and under her underwear, pushing past barriers until his fingers were inside her.

Vivienne gasped against his mouth, her body jerking as though he’d burned her. A soft moan slipped out, humiliating, uncontrollable, and his lips curved faintly against hers when he heard it. He knew. He knew how much she hated this, and how much her body betrayed her. She tried to hold it back, tried to dig her nails into his shirt to remind herself she despised him, but her body was no longer hers.

André didn’t stop. His mouth left her lips only to press against her neck, just below her ear, his breath hot and steady, as if he was feeding off her reactions. His lips dragged slow fire against her skin as he kissed behind her ear, down her throat, over the tender line of her jaw. He bit her once, sharp and teasing, and she hated the way her body arched into it. Her head tilted back without her permission, granting him more, her throat bared to him like a surrender.

Her breaths were uneven, short, panicked, but threaded with something darker—something she couldn’t fight. He slid another finger inside her, stretching her, moving deeper, slower, then faster, twisting the pressure until her thighs trembled. Her body shook, her legs weak and trembling, her hips twitching helplessly against his rhythm.

Her hands flew to him, gripping his shirt, his hair, his shoulders—anything to hold on. Her palms pressed into the heat of him, and for a moment she almost convinced herself she was pushing him away. But she wasn’t. She couldn’t. She clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

Her legs shook harder, her breath broke into small whimpers, soft cries she hated herself for. She could feel tears stinging her eyes, but she couldn’t even explain why. Maybe it was rage, maybe shame, maybe the unbearable pleasure he was forcing out of her. He had her undone with only his fingers, and the more he touched her, the more her body betrayed her.

And then he stopped. Only for a moment. Only long enough to strip her.

His hands pushed her dress down, tugging the heavy fabric until it slid from her body, leaving her in only the barest of coverings. His fingers found the ties of her corset, undoing them with practiced ease, loosening the stays until she could breathe again, until the corset fell away in a whisper of silk and string.

Vivienne wanted to scream at herself. She wanted to curse him, curse herself, curse the whole damn night. But her throat burned with silence. Her voice was gone.

André bent forward, his lips pressing against her chest. He kissed her breasts, soft at first, then harder, pulling her nipple into his mouth, biting just enough to make her shiver. He bit again, sharper this time, as though daring her to slap him, and her head fell back, her lips parted, but no words came. Her body was gone, out of her hands, reacting only to him.

At the same time, his hand moved again, sliding back between her legs, finding her wet and shaking. His fingers pressed inside her again, faster this time, deeper, crueler, pushing her further than she wanted to go. Her legs trembled violently, threatening to give out completely, but he held her thigh higher, forcing her open, forcing her to feel everything.

She clutched at him—his shoulders, his shirt, his hair—desperate, frantic, because she couldn’t stand on her own. She couldn’t hold herself. He was the only thing keeping her upright, the only thing keeping her from collapsing completely.

Her breaths came faster, uneven, broken. A moan escaped her lips, louder now, raw, and he smiled against her skin when he heard it. She bit her lip hard, punishing herself, trying to stop herself, but she couldn’t. Her body betrayed her again, rocking against his hand, chasing the rhythm he set.

Her hips moved against his fingers shamelessly, desperate and needy, as though her body had forgotten every ounce of pride she had. Her legs squeezed around him, pulling him closer, craving something she would never admit.

André’s mouth pressed against her skin again, kissing, biting, whispering nothing she could understand. His voice was a low rumble, dark and intimate, words lost but tone unmistakable. His hand moved faster, harder, until her body shattered around him.

She came with a cry, a sound she couldn’t hold back, her body convulsing against his hand. Her legs shook violently, her breaths breaking into sobs of release. She clutched him harder, digging her nails into his shirt, leaving angry red lines, her body shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave crashed over her.

André slowed his hand only after she had fallen against him completely, her body limp, trembling. He pulled his fingers out slowly, deliberately, savoring the way her body twitched at the loss.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Almost tender. Almost cruel.

Vivienne’s chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. Her face pressed into his shirt, her hair wild, her whole body trembling from what he had done.

She hated him. She hated him more than she had ever hated anyone.

And yet, her body had answered him.

The room was silent. Too silent. The only sounds were their breaths, uneven, mingling. Her thoughts were gone. Completely gone. Not a curse, not a plan, not a scream in her head. Just nothing.

Her circuits were fried.

André held her close, his lips still against her forehead. His arms didn’t loosen, as if he thought she might run away. His breath was warm against her hair, steady, calm, like he had taken something from her and was satisfied with it. He needed the distraction, and he had used her for it.

Vivienne wanted to pull away. She wanted to shove him, curse him, spit in his face. But she didn’t. Her body wouldn’t move. Her mind was empty.

It was too quiet. Too dangerous.

He had taken her silence, and she didn’t know how to take it back.