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The heat was relentless.
The kind that settled thick in the air, that clung to her skin, that made her dress stick uncomfortably to her back as she worked in the field. Annette wiped sweat from her forehead, her fingers slick, dirt caught under her nails as she bent to pick another handful of plantains. Since it was daylight, there were no vampires to fight, no enemies lurking in the dark, so she had decided to help with the harvest instead.
They never let her or Richter work too hard during the day. Everyone knew they were needed at night. But today, she wanted the distraction.
And Richter was close by. Of course he was. He always was.
He was lifting heavy sacks of produce into the carts, his arms straining under the weight, his skin glistening with sweat. It should have been mundane, should have been the least interesting thing in the world. He just a man working, just a man doing his job. But it wasn’t. Not with Richter.
Annette stole glances at him between every few minutes of work, unable to help herself.
His white shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat. When he swiped his hand across his brow, she caught the flex of his biceps. And when he used his magic to pressed his ice cold fingers to his neck, sighing in relief, she nearly dropped the fruit in her hands.
It was unfair, really.
He looked good like this. Too good.
Like some farmer from a storybook, expect no one in those stories looked like this, sweat slick and gorgeous, muscles shifting under taut fabric, smiling so easily it was almost infuriating.
And she wasn’t the only one who noticed.
A few women stole glances at him. They always did, but today it was worse. Maybe it was because of the heat, maybe because he looked so good under the sun. They giggled amongst themselves, whispering behind their hands, casting him long, lingering looks that made something ugly and possessive curl hot in Annette’s stomach.
She had never thought of herself as the jealous type. But maybe she was wrong.
She wasn’t afraid Richter would do anything about the attention. He wouldn’t. That wasn’t even a question. But it still irritated her, watching them gaze at him like they had a chance, like he wasn’t hers.
And worse it made her want him.
Badly.
The heat was unbearable, but the way her body responded to him was worse. The way she kept picturing those hands on her instead of the sacks of produce, the way she thought about how many times those arms had lifted her, pinned her down, carried her away—
She swallowed hard.
Her thoughts were useless, messy things.
But she wasn’t about to suffer alone.
She tied up a sack of plantains and hauled it onto her hip, making her way over to him. He had just finished loading another bag onto the cart, his hands braced against his thighs as he exhaled, catching his breath.
She watched the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the shift of muscle under his shirt.
Her fingers tightened around the bag.
He must have sensed her watching, because he turned, smiling that lazy, boyish smile that always managed to disarm her. “Annette,” he said, grinning. “You done already?”
Before she could answer, one of the women working alongside him approached, holding out a bottle of water.
Annette tensed.
The woman greeted her politely but barely glanced at her, all her attention focused on Richter.
He, as always, was oblivious, just smiling as he accepted the bottle, tilting his head back to drink.
Annette stared at his throat as he swallowed, at the way a bead of water escaped the corner of his mouth and trailed down the line of his jaw.
God.
She must have been scowling because when he finished drinking, he lowered the bottle and raised an eyebrow at her.
“What’s with that face?”
She said nothing.
“Annette. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because you’re glaring at that poor woman who just left like she just tried to stake me.”
“She was smiling too much.”
Richter pressed his lips together, as if fighting back laughter when he realised what was truly going on. “How horrifying.”
Annette clenched her jaw, still burning with the mix of heat and desire and irritation. She didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to explain what she was feeling, didn’t want to admit that she was this close to dragging him somewhere private just to prove a point.
So she grabbed his wrist.
“Come with me.”
His brows shot up. But he let her pull him away, grinning as he followed. “I like where this is going—”
She led him past the field, towards the trees that bordered the village. It wasn’t completely private. Anyone could walk past and see them if they turned their head, but she didn’t care. Not right now.
She turned, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.
Richter made a surprised sound against her lips. But he recovered quickly, his hands flying to her waist, fingers pressing into her hips as he kissed her back, deep and eager.
The heat of the sun was nothing compared to this.
He broke away just long enough to smirk against her mouth. “So, just to be clear, you dragged me out here because you’re jealous?”
“Shut up,” she muttered, yanking him back in.
His laughter vibrated against her lips. But then his grip on her tightened, and his teasing stopped entirely.
Because she was pressing against him warm, needy, and desperate, and her hands were already sliding down his body with purpose.
It was the kind of heat that made the world feel hazy at the edges. The kind of heat that clung to the skin and made breath come heavy, like the sun itself was trying to peel the clothes off your back. She hadn’t meant to slip them away from the field. Not really. But now they were here, hidden behind the trees, and Annette couldn’t bring herself to care.
Her fingers curled into the back of his neck, tugging slightly, playing with the ends of his hair as she moaned against his mouth. Her lips pressed to his over and over, open mouthed and desperate, her breath hot and uneven.
Kissing Richter always made her feel light-headed and powerful and full to the brim with want. But today, that want was sharpened by something else. The jealousy still lingered bitter on her tongue, and the memory of that girl handing him water with a too wide smile flared behind her eyes.
She didn’t like it. Not because she didn’t trust him. Richter had never given her a single reason to doubt, but because she wanted him, all the time, everywhere, especially now.
He seemed to sense her thoughts, his mouth quirking into a smirk as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer until she could feel the hard press of him against her stomach. “Someone’s a bit worked up,” he murmured, lips brushing hers. “Should I be worried?”
“I should be the one asking you that,” she replied, breathless. “You’ve got a fan club now, apparently.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “All those lovely ladies just dying to hear about my composting technique. Sexy stuff.”
She rolled her eyes but kissed him again, this time slower, darker. He groaned into her mouth. She was kissing him the way she always did when she wanted something more. Richter knew it by now. There was a certain intent behind it. A kind of hunger that came with the way she bit his bottom lip, the way her body pressed flush against his with no apology.
He gasped softly as she kissed him harder, and she smiled into his mouth. Fuck, she was insatiable.
Then, without warning, she grabbed his wrist and guided his hand down to where she needed him most. Her body arched instinctively. She was soaked, aching, undone beneath the surface.
And Richter didn’t hesitate. He never did.
His fingers moved with practised confidence, slipping past the edge of her underwear and finding her slick heat. She clenched around nothing at first, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as he touched her, slow and purposeful, like he was memorising the rhythm of her pulse.
They were hidden, but barely. Anyone could walk past the trees and see them, and maybe that was part of the thrill. The heat made everything feel feral.
Her head fell back against the tree trunk, hair sticking to her neck, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth moved to her throat. He kissed the hollow of it gently while his fingers moved inside her, curling in exactly the way she needed. She held onto his shoulders for balance, for something to keep her tethered.
She came with a sharp intake of breath, biting her knuckle to keep from moaning too loudly, her thighs trembling as her body pulsed around his fingers.
When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her like she was the only thing that had ever made sense in the world. There was so much love in his gaze it nearly hurt. He leaned forward and pressed a slow, reverent kiss to her lips.
“Satisfied?” he whispered.
She pretended to think, arching a brow. “Mmm… not really.”
He laughed. “Greedy, are we?”
“Maybe,” she said, casting her gaze downwards. He was flushed, lips swollen, his erection now straining almost painfully against the front of his trousers. She gave him a wicked smile, pecked his cheek, and then turned around.
And bent over.
He choked on a gasp.
She arched her back, pressing her palms against the tree for support. “What do you think this means?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
He swallowed hard. “Annette... Are you sure?”
She scoffed. “No, Richter. I’m bending over in the middle of the forest with my dress hiked up because I’m unsure.”
He laughed, short and stunned. “Fuck, I love you.”
His hands came to rest on her hips, thumbs brushing bare skin as he lifted her dress. She heard him suck in a sharp breath at the sight of her — wet, ready, waiting.
And then he entered her in one slow, steady motion.
They both moaned. Loud.
He gripped her tightly as he pulled out just a little, only to thrust back in, the sensation knocking the breath from her lungs. The heat, the risk, the rawness of it was too much. It was everything.
She pressed her forehead to the bark, clutching the tree like it might help her survive the intensity.
And Richter, he fucked like he loved her. No rush. No clumsiness. Just quiet, devoted power.
Each thrust was purposeful, almost reverent. And every time he pulled back and slid back in, she felt her whole body shudder. Her fingers curled against the tree. Her breath came in shallow bursts.
“You’re going to kill me,” he murmured behind her, voice ragged.
“You’ll die happy.”
“Fair.”
And he picked up the pace.
Some might have called it indecent. Scandalous, even. That serious Annette, the ever righteous, ever composed, was bent over in the shade of an overgrown grove, dress bunched around her waist, while Richter Belmont, was fucking her like they were the only two people left alive.
And if someone happened to walk past, if someone happened to glance just a little too far to the left, they’d see her bare and trembling, face flushed, gripping the tree trunk for balance while he rutted into her like he’d waited centuries to do so.
Did she care? Not in the slightest.
Not when he felt that good inside her.
Being with Richter had done this to her. Made her reckless. Made her want things. Wild, greedy, loud things that the old version of her would have buried in shame. The Annette who left Saint-Domingue had been so full of fury, so focused, so afraid of vulnerability. And now here she was, completely unashamed, bending to desire like it was her birthright.
And maybe it was.
Funny how quickly the world changed.
She couldn’t help thinking about it, even now, with her cheek pressed against the bark, her body shaking as Richter pounded into her from behind. That the girl who had once crossed the sea with vengeance in her chest would’ve slapped you if you suggested she’d fall into bed with the very man she was sent to find. And not just fall into bed, but fall in love.
And not just fall in love, but surrender to it. Entirely.
Richter had unlocked something in her. A hunger. A joy. A kind of soft madness. And it wasn’t one sided. He’d told her more than once, in a low, ragged whisper against her skin, that he’d never acted like this before her. Never lost himself the way he did with her.
She believed him. Because right now, he looked ravenous. Like the mere act of being inside her had set something alight.
“Gods,” he murmured behind her, his voice hoarse with restraint. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She wanted to say good, but her breath caught when his pace shifted. Faster. Deeper. He slammed into her with such force her knees nearly buckled. His grip on her thigh tightened like iron, pulling her back to meet each thrust, guiding her to the rhythm he wanted, that left no room for modesty, only pleasure.
She moaned, loud and helpless.
Immediately his hand was on her mouth. His palm rough, familiar. His breath ghosted against her ear as he leaned in. “Ssh. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”
She shook her head, eyes fluttering closed, and leaned into his hand. She loved when he got like this — commanding, cheeky, and somehow still so gentle even when he was utterly wrecking her.
He was grinning now, of course he was. “Though if we were caught, I’d probably blame you. You’re the loud one.”
She bit his hand in retaliation. Not hard. Just enough to make him groan.
“Bossy,” he muttered. “I like it.”
“Then shut up and fuck me properly,” she mumbled into his hand.
And he did.
He bent over her, arms wrapping around her middle, pulling her tight against him as he drove deeper. She could feel him trembling. Could feel his lips against her shoulder, murmuring things”I love yous” in a rush of breathless affection.
She broke first.
Her orgasm hit like a wave crashing against stone. It stole the air from her lungs, made her legs shake, made her whimper against his hand like it was too much and not enough at once. She would’ve collapsed if he hadn’t held her.
And through it all, Richter didn’t stop. He whispered encouragement against her skin, buried himself as deep as he could, and finally, with a rough groan of her name, he came too.
They stood there like that for a moment, still connected, chests heaving. The air thick with sweat and heat and the act of what they’d just done.
When he pulled out, gently, carefully, he turned her around and cupped her face in both hands.
His expression was a strange mix of cocky and worshipful.
“Still jealous?” he asked, voice low and teasing.
She laughed. She actually laughed. The sound surprised them both.
And then she kissed him. It was gentle, grateful, and overwhelming. Like nothing else in the world mattered.
Because it didn’t.
He was hers. In everything, heart, soul, everything in between.
She was loved. She was happy.
And god forbid anyone who tried to take that from her.