Ava's POV
The Murphy estate's dining room glows with warm candlelight as Chloe sets down the ceramic dish of pasta she and Mara spent the afternoon perfecting.
Her face radiates pure happiness as she serves portions, chattering about the recipe they found online and how Mara insisted on making the sauce from scratch.
"It smells incredible," I tell them, accepting my plate while hyperaware of Tobias sitting across from me. He hasn't looked at me directly since I arrived twenty minutes ago, but I feel his attention like electricity crackling across the mahogany table.
"Mara's the real chef," Chloe says, beaming at her girlfriend. "I just follow instructions and try not to burn anything."
"You did more than that," Mara protests, squeezing Chloe's hand. "The seasoning was all you."
Their easy intimacy is beautiful and torturous in equal measure. The way they move around each other with practiced choreography, finishing each other's sentences, stealing quick kisses when they think no one's looking.
It's everything I want with Tobias and everything we can never have publicly.
"This is delicious," Tobias says, his voice carefully neutral as he takes another bite. "Thank you both for cooking."
"You look beautiful tonight, Ava," Mara observes, gesturing with her fork. "That dress is perfect on you. Doesn't she look gorgeous, Tobias?"
I watch a muscle jump in his jaw as he's forced to look at me directly for the first time this evening. His eyes meet mine for exactly two seconds before he glances away, but I catch the heat there, the way his pupils dilate slightly.
"Very nice," he manages, his knuckles going white around his wine glass.
"She needs someone who appreciates how stunning she is," Mara continues, oblivious to the landmine she's stepping on. "After that disaster with Tyler, you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on."
Tobias's grip on his wine glass tightens dangerously. I can practically feel the restraint it's taking for him not to respond, not to claim me right here in front of his daughter and her girlfriend.
"I'm focusing on work right now," I deflect, taking a careful sip of the sparkling cider I requested instead of wine. "Career first, romance later."
"Smart woman," Tobias says quietly, and the approval in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly.
The conversation flows around campaign updates, Mara's latest clients at the gym, Chloe's excitement about an upcoming concert.
All perfectly normal dinner conversation while sexual tension thick enough to cut with a knife stretches between Tobias and me.
My ankle throbs dully from yesterday's fall, a constant reminder of how someone tried to hurt me. Tried to hurt our baby. Every time I catch Tobias's eye, I see the same protective rage simmering beneath his composed surface.
He spent last night texting me constantly, desperate for updates about how I was feeling, whether I'd experienced any cramping or unusual symptoms. Each message was carefully coded as work-related, but I could read the panic between the lines.
Something snaps in me during the main course. Maybe it's the wine I'm pretending to sip, maybe it's weeks of accumulated frustration at hiding, at pretending he doesn't matter when he means everything.
Under the table, I slip off my heel and extend my leg, my foot finding his thigh.
Tobias goes rigid, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. But he doesn't pull away as my foot slides higher, pressing against his groin with deliberate pressure.
"—and then the trainer said she'd never seen someone deadlift that much on their first try," Mara is saying, completely absorbed in her story.
Tobias clears his throat, setting down his fork with careful precision. "That's... impressive."
His hand drops below the table, gripping my ankle in warning. But instead of stopping, I curl my toes against him through his dress pants, stroking him slowly while he tries to maintain conversation about campaign funding with his daughter.
"The youth program proposal is getting great feedback from donors," he manages, his voice only slightly strained as I increase the pressure.
"That's Ava's project," Chloe says proudly. "She's been working on it for months. Show them the statistics you found, Ava."
"Maybe later," I breathe, watching sweat bead at Tobias's temples as my foot works against his growing hardness. "I'd rather hear about Mara's competition."
The power is intoxicating. Watching this composed, controlled man struggle to maintain normalcy while I tease him mercilessly under the table. His grip on my ankle tightens, but he doesn't try to stop me.
"I should grab dessert," Chloe announces, standing. "Mara made tiramisu."
"I'll help," Mara offers, following her toward the kitchen.
The moment they disappear, Tobias stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor.
"Ava should see the restored library," he says loudly enough for Chloe to hear from the kitchen. "She mentioned loving the architectural details."
Before I can respond, his hand is on my elbow, practically dragging me from the dining room. We make it to the library before his careful control finally snaps.
He presses me against the closed door, his mouth crashing into mine with desperate hunger. But I stop him with a palm against his chest, powered by the same boldness that made me tease him at dinner.
"My turn," I breathe, watching his pupils dilate with shock and arousal.
I push him backward toward the leather couch, reversing our usual dynamic completely. For once, I'm setting the pace, controlling the encounter.
"Sit," I command, and he obeys without question, sinking onto the cushions with dark eyes locked on mine.
I straddle him slowly, deliberately, my dress riding up my thighs as I settle over his lap. His hands move instinctively to my waist, but I catch his wrists.
"No touching," I tell him, placing his hands firmly on the couch cushions. "Not unless I say you can."
The role reversal intoxicates us both. I can see the effort it costs him to keep his hands still, to let me take control when every instinct screams to flip me over and claim me completely.
"Please," he breathes as I grind against him through our clothes, the friction making us both gasp.
"Please what?" I lean down to whisper in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.
"Let me touch you. Let me…" His words cut off in a groan as I shift position, the movement sending pleasure shooting through us both.
"Not yet." I reach between us, freeing him from his pants with shaking hands. "You're going to sit there and take what I give you."
I sink down onto him slowly, both of us still partially clothed in our dinner attire. The angle is perfect, hitting spots that make stars explode behind my eyes.
"Christ, Ava," he pants, his knuckles white where they grip the couch. "You feel so fucking perfect."
I set a torturously slow rhythm, rising and falling on him while he struggles not to thrust up to meet me. The control is addictive—watching this powerful man reduced to desperate need, knowing I'm the only one who can give him what he craves.
"Is this what you thought about during dinner?" I ask breathlessly, increasing my pace slightly. "While you tried to make conversation?"
"Yes," he groans. "God, yes. I wanted to bend you over that table, make you scream my name."
The confession sends heat flooding through me. I'm close already, the combination of control and his words pushing me toward the edge.
"Touch me now," I gasp, and his hands are on me instantly, one gripping my hip to guide my movements while the other finds my clit.
We move together desperately, chasing release with single-minded focus. I'm right there, balanced on the precipice, when headlights sweep across the library windows.
Tobias recognizes the pattern immediately, his face going pale with horror.
"Veronica's Mercedes," he curses viciously, lifting me off him in one swift motion. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
We scramble to fix our clothes, hands shaking as we try to make ourselves presentable. My hair is messed, my lips swollen, and there's no hiding what we've been doing.
"How do I look?" I whisper frantically.
"Like you've been thoroughly fucked," he says grimly, running his hands through his own disheveled hair.