Surrendered in his arms

“During this trip, you won’t be doing any of the work, amore,” Vic said as he took my shirt off. His hands were firm but tender, reverent in the way they moved over me. “You’ve been working so hard that you need to relax and get out of your head….it’s no wonder you’re so exhausted and stressed.”

The simple statement was profoundly grounding. The tension I had carried all week—the clashes with Scott, the stress of the mental health initiative with the players and the coaches, the weight of the owner’s confidence—seemed to dissipate with the removal of my shirt. The plush carpet of the hotel room was silent beneath my feet, a world away from the echoing concrete of the rugby arena.

He turned, dropping my shirt onto the floor, and smiled. It wasn’t the sexy smirk he reserved for the turf, but a deep, affectionate smile that reached his eyes, the kind that made my heart thrum.

“Exactly what kind of work am I not doing, Papi?” I asked, meeting his gaze.

“None of it,” he promised, stepping closer until I could feel the brush of his breath against my neck. “No reports, no coaching, and definitely no fighting with that blond caveman.”

“Oh? The psych reports that need and demand my review before Monday?” I tilted my head, offering him more of me, aching for his mouth. “What about sex?”

“Yes, amore, we’re having sex,” he said as he kissed me, the heat of his lips silencing the protest in my chest. “However, you’ll be my pillow princess… you’ll only be on receiving end.”

“What about you?” I whispered.

“My pleasure will come secondary,” he said firmly, his eyes dark and certain. “The more pleasure you have, I will know that you’re satisfied… and that will give me pleasure.”

We stripped naked and our clothing pooling around our feet. Vic laced his fingers with mine, tugging me toward the bathroom like he had planned it from the start. The shower was luxurious, wide, with rainfall streams that poured down over us in heavy sheets. Steam curled around the edges of the glass, cocooning us in warmth.

Vic worked shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp in slow, careful circles that made my knees soften. I hummed in pleasure, leaning into his touch. The conditioner left my hair silky-soft, and the gentle soap he lathered across my body exfoliated and tingled, awakening my skin everywhere his hands slid.

“See?” he murmured, his palms gliding down my shoulders, over my tits and down the rest of my body. “You deserve this. To be touched without rushing, without pressure. Just cared for.”

I leaned back into him, the hot water streaming down my face. “If you keep doing that, I might melt right here.”

“Then I’ll catch you,” he promised, kissing the damp curve of my neck.

By the time we stepped out, our skin was flushed and tingling. We dried off slowly, brushing against each other in playful, unhurried touches. He snagged the towel I had my hair wrapped up in.

“Papi, give it back,” I teased, swatting at him with the damp corner of my towel.

“Sharing is romantic, amore,” he said, grinning, though he handed it back.

Once my hair was mostly dry, I sat at the edge of the bed and braided it so I wouldn’t wake with bedhead from sleeping with it slightly wet. Vic sprawled across the mattress, sheets riding low around his hips as his eyes followed every movement.

“You always braid it before bed?” he asked.

“Unless you want me waking up looking like a sea witch,” I said.

He chuckled, low and warm. “You could wake up with horns and scales, and I’d still want you in my bed.”

I shook my head, smiling as I tied off the braid. “You say that now.”

“I’ll say it every morning that we wake up together, too,” he replied without hesitation.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm, weighted with intimacy. I slipped beneath the sheets, and Vic pulled me into his arms. His skin was still hot from the shower, his scent clean and grounding. His lips brushed my temple as he whispered, “Now you’re ready to sleep, princess.”

I laughed softly, my braid trailing across his chest as I nestled in closer. “Only because you made me.”

And in the safety of his arms, wrapped in clean sheets and the quiet pulse of his heartbeat, I finally let myself surrender.

We slept for a few hours, the kind of deep, restorative sleep that only came when I was cocooned in his warmth. The shrill buzz of my phone cut through the dark, dragging me up from dreams. Groggy, I fumbled on the nightstand and answered without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” My voice was thick with sleep.

“Hey, it’s Kay.” Her voice was tight, edged with stress. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I had to call. Someone broke into your house.”

I shot upright, heart hammering. “What?”

“Mike heard the commotion from next door. He went over and stopped them from doing more damage. He stayed until the police arrived, gave them his statement. They’ve already filed a report.”

A shaky breath left me as I pressed a hand to my forehead. Relief tangled with dread in my chest. “Thank fuck for him. Did the cops say what was taken?”

“Not much. They didn’t get far before Mike caught them before they could do anything else. Just a window broken, a couple things tossed around. But it’s enough that you’ll need to file with insurance.”

I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Kay, submit everything you have to the homeowner’s insurance. I’ll add you as an authorized person so you can deal with them directly,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice.

“Really?” she asked. “That would make things so much easier.”

“Kay, thanks for calling me and taking care of this for me.”

She exhaled, her voice softening. “Of course. I’ve got your back. I’ll text you the police report number as soon as I have it.”

“Perfect,” I ended the call and set the phone in my lap, rubbing my face.

Vic stirred beside me, eyes opening, brow furrowed. “What happened?”

 “Someone broke into my house. My neighbor, Mike, stopped them from doing far worse, stayed until the police got there. Kay’s handling it now, but I need to update the insurance company and make her their point of contact.”

His jaw flexed. He reached out, brushing his hand down my arm, steady and grounding. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just pissed, honestly.” I picked my phone back up, opened the homeowner’s insurance app, and navigated to the policy settings. My fingers flew as I added Kay’s name and details, then I dialed the insurance agent directly.

The line clicked. “This is Morgan with Highland Home Insurance. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Morgan, it’s Deppgrl. I need to report that break-in that happened at my home tonight or this morning. I’m in New Zealand for work right now and I don’t even know what time it is over there. The police have already been on scene, but I want to give you a heads-up. I’ve also added a contact person who will be handling things on my behalf.”

“Understood. Let’s get their information on file.”

I explained that I had already updated the contact information via the app but read off Kay’s number and email so Morgan could confirm that Kay’s info was already uploaded.

“Got it,” Morgan said, efficient and calm. “We’ll follow up with Kay for photos and reports. You’ll receive an email confirmation once everything is logged.”

“Thank you.” I hung up and dropped the phone back onto the nightstand, finally exhaling.

Vic’s arms slid around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. “Handled?”

“For now,” I murmured, my body finally loosening against him.

“Good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. “Then let me love you, amore. The rest can wait until later.”

I turned to him, pressing my body against his. I ran my hands over his shoulders and chest, feeling the warmth of him. When his lips found mine, his kisses were slow, deliberate, full of care. He eased me onto my back, his hands cupping my tits, rolling them gently, pinching and sucking my nipples. I moaned softly, leaning into him, letting my hips rise to meet him.

He positioned the head of his dick at my pussy, then asked: “You’re still on birth control?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He slowly pushed his dick inside my pussy, giving me time to adjust, to feel every inch and I felt every inch of his dick

I gasped, gripping his shoulders, pressing into him. “Yes… right there…”

He held me close, letting his hips rock in slow movements. “I’m right here,” he said, his mouth brushing my ear, his hands tracing the curves of my body. “Only this, only us.”

Every motion was deliberate, intimate. His hand slid to my clit, circling, stroking with care, syncing with the rhythm of his hips. I shivered, my breaths coming fast, my moans soft and uncontrolled.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, kissing my jaw, my neck. “Just us together….”

The pleasure built gradually, intimate and consuming. I cried out, gripping him as my climax broke over me, my pussy pulsing  around him and clamping down on his hard dick. He followed soon after, thrusting hard until he came so deep inside me, holding me through the aftershocks, screaming my name as he came.

We lay together for a long while, the air between us still warm, our breaths gradually falling into rhythm. My cheek rested against Vic’s chest, his hand tracing idle lines along my arm. The silence wasn’t empty — it was full, weighted with the kind of closeness that didn’t need words.

“I could stay like this forever,” Vic murmured, pressing a kiss into my hair.

I tilted my head just enough to glance at him. “And miss dinner?”

His mouth curved into a lazy smile. “Depends. Is dinner worth leaving this bed for?”

I laughed softly, reluctant but knowing we couldn’t stay wrapped in that moment forever. “We’ll find out.”

We eventually rose, slowly, with a kind of reverence, dressing carefully as though each movement still belonged to the intimacy we’d just shared. My snug maroon dress hugged me as Vic straightened his shirt and jacket; the dress once fit better but I’d gained enough weight to make it snug. Once ready, we left the suite, fingers brushing but not quite letting go.

A sleek black car waited at the curb. The driver stepped out, nodding politely as he opened the back door for us. We slid inside, the cool leather seats greeting our warmed skin.

Vic laced his fingers through mine as the city lights began to streak past. “So,” he said, squeezing gently, “do you think Charlie’s going for flashy or chill tonight?”

I smiled, glancing out at the passing skyline. “With Charlie? Flashy and thoughtful. He can’t resist.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured.

We did.

The car pulled to a smooth stop thirty five minutes later, and when the driver opened the door, we both stepped out in front of a glowing façade: The French Café. One of Auckland’s finest and expensive, its reputation for elegance, expensive foods and wines. The perfection was well known.

Vic let out a low whistle. “Of course.”

Inside, the restaurant glowed with candlelight, each table draped in linen, each detail refined. The air smelled of butter, herbs, and wine. We were led to a quiet table by the window.

Vic leaned closer as we settled into our seats. “All right. What’s the plan? I can already tell you’re going to order in French, and I’m going to sit here and look impressed.”

I smirked. “You know me too well.”

When the waiter returned, I didn’t hesitate.

“En entrée, deux carpaccios de bœuf Wagyu, avec truffe noire et huile de noisette.”

Vic raised his brows. “What did you just say?”

“Wagyu beef carpaccio, with black truffle and hazelnut oil,” I translated smoothly.

He leaned back, smiling. “Fancy. Keep going.”

“Comme plat principal… le filet de canard rôti, servi avec une purée de céleri-rave et une réduction de cassis… et le filet de bœuf, cuisson saignante, accompagné d’asperges grillées et pommes fondantes.”

“That sounded even fancier,” Vic murmured, eyes warm.

“Roast duck breast with celery root purée and a blackcurrant reduction,” I explained. “And medium-rare beef with grilled asparagus and melting potatoes.”

Vic gave a low appreciative whistle. “Remind me never to argue with you about dinner again.”

I smiled as I finished the order. “Et pour terminer… le soufflé au chocolat noir, servi avec glace à la vanille bourbon.”

He grinned. “I don’t even need the translation. That’s chocolate soufflé, right? You’re spoiling me.”

When the sommelier approached, I asked for “une bouteille de Chablis Premier Cru, s’il vous plaît.”

As the server and sommelier departed, Vic leaned across the table, his grin softening. “That was dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I teased.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “You order like that, and I’ll never want to eat without you again.”

Course after course arrived. The carpaccio melted on the tongue, delicate and perfumed with truffle. The duck was tender, its richness cut perfectly by the tart blackcurrant reduction. The beef was everything Vic wanted — seared on the outside, rare within, paired with buttery potatoes that nearly dissolved at first bite.

“This is insane,” he said, savoring a piece of the duck. “You didn’t oversell it.”

“I told you to trust me,” I replied, my glass of Chablis catching the candlelight as I raised it in a toast.

“To you,” he said, clinking his glass gently against mine.

The meal lingered, each bite punctuated with laughter, glances, and the kind of conversation that felt effortless, flowing like the wine. By the time dessert arrived — the soufflé tall and trembling, with its molten heart of dark chocolate, paired with the cool sweetness of bourbon vanilla ice cream — Vic leaned back with a groan of satisfaction.

“Charlie wins,” he admitted. “But only because you did the ordering.”

The server appeared quietly, bowing slightly. “There is no bill this evening. Everything has been taken care of.”

Vic shook his head with a laugh. “Of course it has.”

Moments later, we were guided back outside where the waiting car pulled up once again. We slid into the backseat, the night folding around us as the driver eased into the streets.

At first, the drive felt like a tour of Auckland by night. The Sky Tower glowed above us, throwing its colors over the skyline. Ponsonby was still buzzing, music spilling from bars, clusters of people laughing on sidewalks slick with neon light. At the Viaduct Harbour, the water shimmered with reflections from yachts and late-night restaurants. Then the car wound out toward Tamaki Drive, the black sweep of the ocean on one side, the soft gold of streetlamps on the other.

Vic leaned closer to the window, pointing lazily. “That’s the Sky Tower again, right? Or maybe I’m seeing double.”

I laughed. “That’s the same one. It hasn’t moved.”

He gave a faint grin. “Good. Thought I was losing it.” His voice was warm but thick, his words dragging at the edges.

“You’re jet-lagged,” I said softly.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, though his head tipped toward me, heavy. “Just trying to keep you entertained.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, brushing my hand over his.

“I like hearing you laugh,” he murmured, then yawned, covering it with the back of his hand. “God, sorry. Not very impressive, huh?”

“You’ve been on three different time zones in over twenty seven hours,” I reminded him. “You’re allowed to be human.”

He tried to smile again, his eyelids sinking. “Still… don’t want to fall asleep on you.”

“You won’t,” I said gently. “You’re right here.”

He gave a faint hum of agreement, his words slurring as he tried again to joke. “Tell me when we get to… wherever Charlie’s sending us next. Hopefully not Antarctica.”

I pressed his hand, smiling at the way his voice trailed off mid-sentence. That was when I glanced at the dashboard clock. 2:07 a.m.

Leaning forward, I caught the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Would you mind taking us back to the hotel now? Please?”

“Of course, ma’am,” he said smoothly, angling the car toward the city center. “I remember the first few times I drove you around when you were that jet lagged. Let him sleep in, ma’am.”

By the time we arrived at the hotel, Vic was nearly asleep against the window. I nudged his shoulder gently. “Hey. We’re here.”

He blinked, sitting up slowly. “Already?”

“Yes,” I said with a smile. “Come on.”

Inside the suite, silence wrapped around us. I sighed as I kicked off my stilettos, the relief immediate. “Finally.”

Vic moved behind me, fingers sliding to the zipper of my maroon dress. He pulled it down slowly, his voice soft at my ear. “You looked stunning tonight – as always, amore.”

I let the fabric fall to the floor, turning just enough to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

Piece by piece, he stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a careless trail across the carpet. He caught my hand as he unbuttoned his shirt. “You ready for bed?”

“Yes,” I said softly, exhaustion catching up at last.

He took his shirt off and left it in the pile of clothes on the floor.

The bedroom welcomed us with low lighting, sheets turned down, bottles of iced water waiting on either nightstand. It felt prepared, expectant.

Vic slipped beneath the covers first, holding them open for me. I slid in beside him, the sheets cool, his warmth immediate as he pulled me close.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired,” he whispered into my hair, already half gone to sleep.

“Then sleep, Papa” I said gently. “I’m right here.”

He kissed the crown of my head, murmuring as his words blurred with sleep. “Good because I don’t want to let you go.”

I nestled closer, the steady rise and fall of his chest anchoring me, his arms tightening around me. The city outside could keep its lights and noise — here in the dark, in his arms, was where I wanted to be and never wanted to leave.