Ava's POV
"You're not driving home this late," Chloe declares as we climb the stairs to the second floor, her voice brooking no argument.
"I'm fine to drive," I protest weakly, but honestly, the thought of navigating dark roads while emotionally wrung out feels overwhelming.
"You've been weird all evening, and I'm not letting you get behind the wheel when you're clearly not okay."
She pushes open the door to her childhood bedroom, which still holds traces of teenage Chloe—band posters on the walls, a bulletin board covered in old photos.
"Besides, we can have breakfast together and properly debrief about tonight."
The innocent suggestion makes my stomach clench with guilt. How can I possibly debrief about watching her father with his ex-wife when I'm carrying his child?
"Here." She tosses me a silk nightgown from her dresser, the fabric whisper-soft and expensive. "This should fit. I'll grab you some toiletries."
Twenty minutes later, I'm alone in Chloe's room, wearing her borrowed nightgown and staring at the ceiling while my mind replays every torturous moment from the evening.
The way Veronica's hands roamed possessively over Tobias's body. How perfectly they moved together on the dance floor, years of shared history evident in every step. The calculating look in her eyes when she cornered me by the dessert table.
My skin feels too tight, my body humming with a combination of jealousy and arousal that makes me want to crawl out of my own flesh.
The memory of Tobias's hands on Veronica for the cameras keeps mixing with knowledge of how those same hands felt on me just this morning, when he'd stopped by my apartment before the gala to "review final details."
There had been nothing professional about the way he'd pressed me against my kitchen counter, whispering how beautiful I looked in my dress while his fingers found their way under my skirt.
"You're going to drive me insane tonight," he'd groaned against my throat. "Watching other men look at you, knowing I can't touch you."
"Then don't go," I'd whispered back, even knowing it was impossible.
"You know I have to. But I'll be thinking about this," his thumb had circled my clit through my panties, making me gasp "the entire fucking time."
Now, hours later, that promise echoes in my mind while my body burns with unfulfilled need.
Chloe appears in the room doorway looking apologetic but hopeful, pressing the phone to her chest.
"Mara's at this cute little speakeasy across town and wants me to join her. I know it's late, but..." She bites her lip. "Would you be okay if I left for a couple hours? I'll be back by two, I promise."
"Of course," I tell her, trying to sound sleepy rather than relieved. "Go have fun with your girlfriend."
"You're the best." She kisses my forehead like we're still teenagers having sleepovers. "There's food in the kitchen if you get hungry, and ask Dad if you need anything."
The mention of Tobias makes my pulse spike, but I just nod and wish her a good time. The moment I hear her car pull out of the driveway, restlessness overtakes me completely.
I can't stay in Chloe's bed, surrounded by her childhood things, while my body throbs with want for her father. The silk nightgown feels like water against my skin, making me hyperaware of every sensation, every breath.
I slip out of the room and down the hall, drawn by impulse toward Tobias's study.
The door is open, moonlight streaming through the tall windows to illuminate his leather desk chair, the built-in bookshelves, the space where we danced to Nina Simone just weeks ago.
I settle into his reading chair, the leather still holding traces of his cologne, and let my imagination run wild.
What would it feel like to call this house home? To wake up in his bed every morning instead of sneaking around like criminals?
The fantasy is dangerous, impossible, but I can't stop the images from flooding my mind.
Cooking dinner in that beautiful kitchen while he tells me about his day. Curled up together on the couch watching movies. Him reading bedtime stories to our child in voices that make them giggle.
The need becomes unbearable. My hand drifts beneath the silk nightgown almost without conscious thought, fingers finding the ache between my thighs that's been building all evening.
I close my eyes and let myself remember this morning—the desperate way he'd touched me, the possessive words he'd whispered while making me come against my kitchen counter.
"Mine," he'd growled as I shattered around his fingers. "No matter who else looks at you tonight, you belong to me."
I'm so lost in the memory, in the fantasy of belonging to him openly, that I don't hear the study door close behind me. Don't realize I'm no longer alone until a rough voice cuts through my haze.
"Don't stop on my account."
My eyes fly open to find Tobias standing in the doorway, still in his white dress shirt from the gala but with the top buttons undone, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck.
His expression is dark with hunger as he takes in the sight of me sprawled in his chair, hand between my thighs, wearing nothing but borrowed silk.
"Tobias," I breathe, starting to pull my hand away, but he steps into the room and closes the door with deliberate slowness.
"Is that Chloe's nightgown?" His voice is carefully controlled, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.
"Yes," I whisper.
"Take it off." His tone brooks no argument. "Throw it on the floor where we can't see it."
With shaking hands, I pull the silk over my head and drop it beside the chair, leaving me completely bare under his burning gaze.
"Good girl." He moves to the chair across from me, settling back with predatory grace. "Now show me exactly what you were thinking about. Spread your legs wider so I can see everything."
The command makes me clench around nothing, arousal flooding through me at the authority in his voice. I obey without question, letting my thighs fall open as my fingers find my wetness again.
"That's it," he murmurs, his own hand moving to his belt. "Circle your clit just like that. Slower. I want to watch you build."
"Tobias," I moan, following his instructions while he frees himself from his dress pants, already hard and flushed with need.
"Do you know what torture tonight was?" He spits into his palm before wrapping his hand around his cock, matching my rhythm. "Having her hands all over me while you watched? I wanted to tear her fingers off every time she touched me."
"I hated it," I gasp, working myself higher. "Watching her act like she owns you."
"She doesn't own anything." His voice is rough with possession. "You're the only woman I want touching me. The only one who gets to see me like this."
"Please," I whimper, right on the edge but needing his permission.
"Not yet." His eyes are locked between my legs, watching my fingers work. "Tell me what you were thinking about when I found you."
"You," I confess breathlessly. "Us. Living here together. Being yours completely instead of hiding."
"Christ, Ava." His rhythm falters slightly. "You want to be mine? Publicly? Even knowing what it would cost us?"
"Yes," I cry out, too far gone to care about consequences. "I want everyone to know I belong to you."
"Come," he commands roughly. "Come for me now."
The orgasm crashes over me with devastating intensity, my back arching as I cry out his name. Through my haze, I watch him follow me over the edge, his release coating his stomach as he groans my name like a prayer.
For long moments, we just stare at each other across the study, both breathing hard, the weight of what just happened settling between us.
"Chloe will be back soon," he says finally, but makes no move to leave.
"Two hours," I confirm, not moving either.
"We should clean up. Get you back to her room."
"We should," I agree.
But neither of us moves, too caught in the dangerous intimacy of what we've just shared to break the spell quite yet.