CHAPTER 80: HUNGER GAMES

Vivienne leaned back on the chaise, trying to catch her breath. Her chest heaved, her skin still buzzing from everything he had just done. She was only in her petticoats and underwear now. Her hair stuck to her damp face, her lips swollen, her legs still trembling. Her brain wasn’t working. Every single thought had left the building hours ago. She wasn’t thinking, wasn’t planning, wasn’t scheming. Wasn’t even wishing him death as usual. Or planning to rob him. She was just... alive. Or as alive as she would ever be with this lunatic.

André stood there for a moment, watching her like he was seeing her for the first time and the last time at the same time. She blinked at him. God, his eyes. They weren’t hungry. They weren’t cruel. They weren’t... anything she could pin a word on. He was just there. And his presence alone made her stomach twist and her thighs ache.

Slowly, deliberately, he undressed. His shirt fell first, the sleeves sliding from his arms with ease. Vivienne blinked, unblinking. He kicked off his boots and trousers like it was nothing. The sight of him made her stomach tighten and her chest feel like it could explode. Every muscle in his body moved with quiet tension, like a coiled weapon, and she hated herself for noticing how sexy he looked doing it.

Then he came to her. Gentle hands lifted her from the chaise. One hand under her knees, the other around her back. He held her like she weighed nothing, like she was made of porcelain, and kissed her spine. She gasped at the sensation, her back arching against him. His lips traveled upward, teasing her neck, and she shivered, biting her lip, trying not to moan, failing immediately. Her body was awake in ways her mind could not comprehend.

Her hands found him, clinging to his shoulders, tangling in his hair, gripping the muscles under his shirt. Her petticoats and underwear were gone before she even realized she had removed them herself. Her body was screaming, hungry for more, desperate, trembling with each touch, each kiss. She let him guide her, let him press into her spine, her shoulders, her hips, and she forgot everything—every plan, every insult, every curse. Only heat and chaos existed.

They kissed. Deep, messy, unthinking, full of moans and broken breaths. Teeth occasionally grazed lips, skin rubbed against skin, and each whisper of their names was almost a plea. André’s lips pressed against hers like he was trying to remember what it felt like to be alive without pain. Vivienne couldn’t help but moan his name back, high, sharp, trembling, her fingers pressing into his chest.

He pulled away for a moment, eyes unreadable. And then he sat on the chaise. Smoothly. Calmly. Almost as if nothing had happened before. And yet his hands, warm and dangerous, guided her on top of him. Vivienne’s body was already betraying her, hungry and trembling, and she rode him because she could not stop herself. Her movements were chaotic, unthinking, and André’s hands pulled her closer, guiding her, holding her, almost worshipping her with his touch.

They moved together, a strange rhythm of desperation and fire, kissing, moaning, trembling. Their lips found each other again and again. Her hands gripped his shoulders, his chest, his arms. His hands roamed, clutching her hips, her waist, pulling her close so they became one in a way that terrified and delighted her.

She whispered his name, half scream, half plea. Tears were in her eyes. Heat burned her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell violently. Her body shuddered, trying to hold itself together, failing completely.

André’s voice was low, rough, dangerous. "God, you are so beautiful," he whispered, almost broken.

She moaned again, pressed her forehead to his shoulder, clinging to him. Her body betrayed her completely, shivering with need and delight, trembling until she couldn’t feel her own skin.

The rhythm grew faster, more desperate. They kissed again, full lips, teeth grazing, tongues tangling, breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Every touch, every movement, was chaotic and violent in the most delicious way. They weren’t thinking. They weren’t plotting. They weren’t hating or loving. They were just lost, bodies fused in a storm of sensation.

Vivienne trembled and cried, her nails clawing at him, her lips pressed to his neck, moaning his name until it became a raw, broken song. André groaned her name back, rough, low, almost reverent. He pressed her to him, holding her in place like he could never let her go, though the chaos of their bodies screamed otherwise.

Finally, they both fell apart. Bodies slick with sweat, trembling violently, moaning, crying, whispering each other’s names until the world outside vanished entirely. Vivienne’s chest heaved, tears dripping down her cheeks. André’s hands clutched her, holding her to him, still whispering, still murmuring, still pressing his lips to hers as if sealing a secret only they understood.

The chaise creaked under them. Their hair stuck to damp skin. Their mouths were swollen from kisses. Their bodies were shaking, trembling, shivering, and yet neither could pull away. Not really. Not yet.

They had lost control completely. They were each other’s undoing. Every nerve, every muscle, every inch of skin burned with the heat of the chaos they had created. They didn’t love. They didn’t lust. They were just... undone. Dangerous to each other. Furious with each other. And somehow, in this dangerous, chaotic, unhinged, vulgar moment, that made it feel alive, raw, and completely, ridiculously perfect.

And then, finally, they rested together, trembling and whispering, trying to breathe, trying to remember that the world existed outside of their chaos.

Vivienne pressed her forehead against his chest. André’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his lips brushing the top of her hair, murmuring her name softly. And both of them knew. They were enemies. They were dangerous. They were insane. But right now, they were each other’s chaos, and neither would escape it.