With All Due Indecency

<< Victoria >>

The rhythmic pounding of my feet on the treadmill creates a hypnotic beat that almost makes me forget my exhaustion. Almost. Rivulets of sweat trace paths down my neck, soaking the valley between my breasts where the sports bra digs into flushed skin. The fabric clings to every curve, my nipples pebbling against the damp compression material with each labored breath. Five more steps... four... three... two... one...

In the locker room, I peel off drenched clothes and catch my reflection. My fingers trace the stretch marks rippling across my hips—silver trails mapping years of fluctuating weight. The black lace of my panties cuts into soft flesh, the swell of my stomach spilling slightly over the waistband. I cup my breasts, their heavy weight familiar and alien all at once since the surgery left one scarred and slightly asymmetrical.

"Vic! Hold up!" Paige jogs over, her sports bra revealing the toned abdomen I covet. "You look like someone stole your protein shake."

Ryan's voice cuts through before I can reply. "That's absolute bullshit." He leans in the doorway, his gaze lingering on the sweat still glistening at my collarbone. "If your fiancé can't see what's right in front of him..." His thumb brushes a droplet trailing toward my cleavage before Paige swats his hand away.

"Keep your paws off the merchandise," she growls, though her lips twitch.

Ryan holds up surrendering hands. "Just saying—any man worth his salt would beg to get his mouth on those tits." My face flames as he nods at my chest. "Present company excluded," he adds with a wink at Paige.

...

The lingerie's underwire digs into my ribs as I adjust the straps. Owen's birthday gift—black French lace with crimson roses embroidered along the garter belts. The stockings whisper against my thighs as I smooth them, the cool satin of the dress sliding over sensitized skin. My thumb circles a nipple through the lace, hardening it to a painful peak. I am confident. I am worthy. I am—

Tires screech outside. Natalie's laughter slices through my mantra before the door opens.

...

Owen's breath hitches when my teeth graze his earlobe. "Fuck, Vic," he rasps, fingers tightening in my hair as I sink lower. The salt-bitter taste of him floods my senses, my tongue swirling the velvety head before taking him deeper. His hips jerk upward, forcing a moan from my throat that vibrates against his cock.

"Christ, just like that—" His grip becomes painful, but the sting only fuels me. I slip a hand under my dress, finding myself drenched. Two fingers slide inside while my thumb presses ruthless circles. Owen's groans turn guttural. "Gonna make me come already, you greedy fucking—"

The curse dissolves into a shout. I swallow every pulse, my own climax ripping through me as his release coats my tongue. When I finally look up, his blown pupils reflect the woman I barely recognize—smudged lipstick, mascara streaked, triumph burning through the vulnerability.

"Jesus." He drags me onto his lap, calloused hands mapping the lace under my dress. "When did you become this?"

I bite the shell of his ear, tasting power. "I was always here. You just stopped looking."