The hotel room smelled faintly of clean linen and rain.
Rosalind noticed it immediately, the way the air shifted once the door closed behind them. Quieter. Contained. As if the world had been reduced to four walls and a soft hum of distant traffic she could safely ignore. She stood just inside the threshold, coat still on, fingers tucked into her sleeves because she didn't quite trust her hands yet.
This was real.
The thought landed with a jolt that sent her pulse skittering. Not panic, exactly. Something closer to vertigo. She had followed him here without hesitation, buoyed by the warmth of his smile and the steady confidence in his voice. But now, with the door shut and the room theirs, the reality pressed in.
Victor didn't move to fill the silence.
He set his jacket aside with careful ease, movements unhurried, almost reverent. The room suited him in a way that made her acutely aware of herself. Neutral colors. Clean lines. A place designed for temporary inhabitation, for nights that existed outside narrative. He turned toward her, attention soft but exact, as if checking her temperature rather than staking claim.
"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "Not conversation. Not explanation. Not anything at all."
Her chest tightened. The words felt like permission she hadn't known she was waiting for.
"I know," she said, though her voice wavered just slightly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
"I'm in town for work," Victor continued, giving her time to breathe.
"Tomorrow, I leave. Tonight doesn't have to be anything more than tonight."
His gaze held hers, steady and open. "No expectations. No strings. If you want to stop at any point, we stop."
A familiar, unwelcome voice rose in her mind then. A litany of warnings she had absorbed without ever agreeing to. You don't know what you're doing. You're inexperienced. You'll embarrass yourself.
Her stomach fluttered, nerves sparking beneath the anticipation.
She smothered it.
Not by pretending it wasn't there, but by stepping directly into it.
"That's what I want," she said, more firmly now. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin. "Just tonight."
Victor's expression softened, something like approval flickering briefly before he smoothed it away. "Then we'll go slowly."
He reached for her coat, stopping short of touching her. The pause felt deliberate, respectful, but it made her acutely aware of the space between them. She handed it to him, fingers brushing his as she did. The contact sent a sharp, unexpected shock through her, lighting something hot and breathless in her chest.
She sucked in a quiet breath.
Victor's eyes darkened, just slightly, but his voice remained calm. "May I?"
"Yes," she said immediately, the word tumbling out before she could second-guess it.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the controlled stillness in his posture. His hand came up to her jaw, fingers warm, deliberate, thumb resting just beneath her ear. The touch was gentle, grounding, but it made her painfully aware of every place they weren't touching yet.
"Look at me," he said softly.
She was already doing it, her green eyes locked on his.
For a moment, he only studied her, as if committing her expression to memory. She wondered if he could see it. The uncertainty she kept tamped down. The knowledge that she didn't quite know what came next, only that she wanted it.
When he leaned in, it was slow enough that she had time to stop him.
She didn't.
The kiss was unhurried, controlled, his mouth warm and coaxing rather than demanding. Rosalind felt her body respond immediately, heat unfurling low in her belly. She leaned into him, hands finding the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as if anchoring herself.
Be bold, she told herself. You chose this.
Victor deepened the kiss slightly, testing rather than taking. When she breathed out against his mouth, a soft, surprised sound escaping her, his hand tightened just enough at her jaw to steady her.
"That's it," he murmured. "You're doing beautifully."
The praise sent a shiver through her, equal parts reassurance and heat. It quieted the small, anxious voice inside her, replacing it with something steadier. She kissed him back with more intention, pressing closer, letting her body speak where her thoughts threatened to stumble.
He guided her backward, one careful step at a time, until the backs of her knees met the edge of the bed. She sat without being told to, relief and anticipation tangling as she did. Victor followed, standing between her knees, his presence close but not overwhelming.
Her heart raced.
She lifted her chin deliberately, refusing to let the moment turn tentative. Her hands slid to his waist, fingers resting there with quiet certainty.
Victor's breath caught, just barely.
He brushed her hair back from her face, fingers lingering at her temple. "If this feels like too much," he said quietly, "you tell me."
"I won't," she replied, surprising herself with how sure she sounded.
He smiled, slow and warm. "I believe you."
He kissed her again, deeper now, his hand firm at the small of her back. The contact sent sensation spiraling through her, unfamiliar and intoxicating. She clutched at him, the intensity making her feel exposed and powerful all at once.
Everything about him was deliberate. The way he waited for her to respond before moving further. The way he seemed to listen not just to her words, but to her breath, the tension in her shoulders, the subtle ways she leaned toward him.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against hers.
"This is just tonight," he reminded her softly. "You're the one in control here."
Rosalind closed her eyes, letting the truth of it settle. The scholarship letter. Caleb's condescension. Becki's betrayal. All of it fell away beneath the clarity of this moment.
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him, bright and unguarded, bold enough now to silence her doubts.
"Then don't stop," she said.
Victor exhaled slowly, restraint and want braided together in the sound.
"I won't," he promised.
And as he leaned down to kiss her again, Rosalind knew, with a thrilling certainty, that whatever happened next would belong to her.