CHAPTER 93: BURNING DESIRES PT2

André and Vivienne continued kissing. The kiss started soft, teasing, as if they were testing the limits of each other’s patience. Then it shifted—slowly, deliberately—growing hungrier, sharper, rawer. Every brush of lips, every tilt of a head, was like a challenge thrown across the battlefield of their bodies.

Vivienne’s hands dug into his shoulders. She wanted to claw him, strangle him, shove him into the mirror and laugh as he fell apart. But instead, she held him like he was something sacred, like he wasn’t the man she hated more than anyone on the planet.

André’s hands were warm on her back, firm but gentle, pushing her closer, pulling her as if he couldn’t bear the distance for a single second. He smelled like rare wine and fine perfume, like books and ink—expensive, deep, and impossible to forget. That scent wrapped around her, dizzying and dark. Vivienne’s legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pressing into him, feeling the weight, the strength, the madness radiating off him. Her hands clutched at his neck, nails scraping lightly over the skin, half in fury, half in craving.

Her robe loosened under his touch, the silk sliding like water across her shoulders. André kissed her neck so softly, so deliberately, that Vivienne shivered violently. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream. She wanted to push him off. And yet, every inch of her body betrayed her. Her chest tightened, her stomach twisted, and her pulse raced as if it had a life of its own.

He kissed lower—barely there touches, maddening in their patience. The soft drag of his lips felt like fire. Vivienne arched against him without meaning to, her fingers twisting into his hair. She tried to stay still, to hold some piece of control, but her body didn’t care. Her control was gone, lost somewhere between his lips and the whisper of silk falling to the floor.

Vivienne’s lips found his again, biting, licking, pushing back against him with every ounce of hate and lust she carried. She kissed him harder, rougher, letting the anger and desire mix into something dangerous and chaotic. She could feel the fire inside him matching her own. Every touch, every brush of teeth, every small gasp and moan from him drove her closer to losing herself entirely.

André lifted her from her seat at the vanity, carrying her like she was both priceless and combustible. Her legs hugged him automatically, her hands still gripping his neck, wishing for the tiniest chance to strangle him for the audacity of making her feel this way. Yet she also held him like he was hers, like she could never push him away without breaking herself.

He laid her down on her bed with care, still hovering over her, his chest pressed against hers, the heat between them thick and suffocating. The lust between them coiled tighter, almost tangible, wrapping around them, wrapping around her chest and throat, making it impossible to breathe properly.

Vivienne’s hands wandered, reckless and greedy, sliding along his chest, fingers brushing against bare skin as if memorizing it. The heat under her palms made her dizzy. She found the buttons of his shirt, her nails scraping gently as she undid them, exposing him inch by inch. Every motion was both an act of defiance and surrender.

André’s breathing deepened. His eyes darkened, sharp and knowing, as if he could read every unspoken thought she would never dare to say aloud. His hand caught her wrist for a moment, not to stop her, just to remind her he could. The small pressure of his fingers sent a pulse through her body. He released her slowly, wordlessly, letting her continue.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker. Every sound—the rustle of fabric, the tremble of her breath, the creak of the mattress—was too loud, too close. He moved with a calmness that burned through her nerves.

André paused briefly, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension gnaw at her, letting her stare at him with that furious, desperate hunger. They sat up for a moment, breathless, foreheads almost touching, staring into each other’s eyes like they were trying to guess which one would break first.

Vivienne’s chest rose and fell sharply. Her lips parted, trembling from the heat and the anger tangled inside her. She didn’t speak. She didn’t think. She just stared at him, her pupils wide, her pulse hammering so loudly she could almost hear it.

André tilted his head slightly, studying her as if she were a secret only he could solve. His thumb brushed her lower lip, slow, teasing. The touch was nothing, but it felt like everything.

He kissed her again. The kiss wasn’t sweet—it was punishment, reward, confession, and threat all at once. She met it with everything she had, biting him back, dragging him closer, desperate for something she didn’t want to name.

He stood slowly, deliberately, peeling off his clothing one piece at a time, revealing more skin, more muscle, more danger, more temptation. Vivienne sat watching him, fire and venom and lust all mixed into one wild coil inside her chest. She wanted to burn him. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to throw something at his head. And yet, the hunger, the lust, the raw desire for him pressed down too heavily to ignore.

André noticed everything in her eyes, every tremble, every flicker of want she couldn’t hide. He smiled, almost tenderly, though twisted and deranged, knowing he was breaking her down piece by piece. Soon, he thought, she would unravel completely.

Vivienne’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst. Her breath hitched when he leaned closer again, when his hand brushed the side of her face. He smelled richer now—like warm wine and faint perfume, like old paper and ink and sin.

André leaned down again, brushing his lips to hers softly, gently, almost tenderly, but the air between them crackled with lust, hate, desire, and chaos. The kiss lingered, a slow, consuming storm, the world disappearing around them, leaving only them, raw and unrelenting.