Raven was three pages into the Leni file when she felt Vincent look up.

No sound. Just the air in the study thickening. Raven’s stomach clenched before her brain caught up.

Raven kept her eyes on the page anyway.

Late afternoon light slanted low through the tall windows behind the massive oak desk, painting long gold stripes across the dark wood floor. The Blades had cleared out after the briefing. Just Raven and Vincent now. Like most evenings lately. Raven buried in files, Vincent buried in the war. The quiet between them felt easy. Raven didn’t question it anymore.

Raven read the same line twice. Sebastian’s routing note. Timestamp still off. Raven forced herself to the next line.

Vincent closed his folder. Soft snap. Decisive.

Raven’s pulse kicked hard.

Vincent stood. Crossed the room in that slow, hungry stride. Not the sharp operational one. Three seconds. Raven used two to set the file down. On the third she looked up.

Vincent’s face hit her like a punch. The mask was gone. Raw underneath. Want. Naked. Staring straight at her from across the desk.

He took the file from Raven’s hand. Dropped it on the blotter. His eyes never left her face.

Raven didn’t lean away.

Vincent’s hand slid to the back of her neck—fingers spreading into her hair, thumb pressing right at her jaw. Full grip. No more playing careful. Her breath hitched. This wasn’t the old version. No strategy. No control. Just need. Real need. The kind that cost Vincent to show.

"Raven," Vincent said. One word. Rough. Stripped bare.

Raven grabbed Vincent’s shirt and yanked him down.

Vincent kissed her like he was starving. Deep. Messy. Both hands in her hair now. No patience left. Raven felt the shift hit her bones—same man, different storm. He walked her back until the sharp edge of the desk slammed into the backs of her thighs, then lifted her like she weighed nothing. Her ass hit the polished wood. Papers scattered across the floor. Neither of them looked.

Raven sat perched right on the edge, legs spread wide around him. She felt him rock-hard through two layers of fabric, thick and insistent against her core. Heat flooded low in Raven’s belly. Not power. Not leverage. Just him. Wanting her. Bare.

Vincent pulled back. Looked at her—flushed, hands fisted in his shirt. Raven let him look. Didn’t cover up. Didn’t hide.

"Been waiting too damn long for this," he growled.

His mouth dropped to Raven’s throat. Sucked hard enough to bruise. Moved down to her collarbone. Fingers worked her shirt buttons one by one. When it fell open Vincent shoved it off her shoulders. The cool air and Vincent’s hot stare hit Raven’s bare skin at the same time. Her nipples tightened. Breath shaky now.

Vincent unclasped her bra. Fumbled the hook once. Raven didn’t help. Vincent didn’t ask. When it came free he made a low sound in his throat—raw, uncontrolled.

"Fuck, Raven," Vincent muttered, voice wrecked.

He bent and took her breast in his mouth. Tongue hot and wet, sucking her nipple deep, teeth grazing just enough. Raven’s fingers twisted tight in Vincent’s hair. She gripped the desk edge behind her with her other hand, knuckles white. Head falling back. Little sounds ripping out of her, she couldn’t hold back—whimpers turning into moans.

He switched sides. Same slow torture. Raven’s thighs started to tremble against the solid wood.

His hands moved to her waistband. Eyes flicked up. Checking. Raven lifted her hips without thinking. Vincent stripped her trousers and everything underneath in one rough tug, tossed them aside. Then he just looked. All of her. Spread open on the edge of his desk in the low golden light, pussy already wet and aching for him. His face changed again—something quieter, deeper. Like he’d waited years to see this and it cracked him open.

He dropped to his knees on the floor between her spread thighs.

His mouth found her and her mind short-circuited.

"Vincent—fuck," Raven gasped.

His tongue dragged straight up her slit, flat and hungry, then circled her clit hard. Perfect pressure. Reading every twitch of Raven’s hips, every gasp. He sucked her clit between his lips, two fingers sliding into her slick heat without warning, curling just right. She came hard—thighs clamping around his shoulders, back arching off the desk, his name breaking out of her loud and ugly. Body shaking. Vincent didn’t stop. Licked her through every aftershock, fingers pumping slow and deep until she yanked his hair and begged.

Vincent stood. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Looked at her—wrecked, panting, legs still spread wide on the desk, pussy glistening in the slanted light.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Raven reached for him, desperate now.

Vincent shed the rest of his clothes fast. No show. Then he was back between her thighs. Naked. Cock thick and flushed, leaking at the tip. Pressed right against her soaked entrance.

"Look at me," Vincent said, voice low and rough.

He pushed in slow. Inch by inch. Eyes locked on her face the whole time. She felt every thick inch stretch her open, filling her so full it punched the air from her lungs. His heartbeat pounded where they joined—fast, real. Raven’s slammed right back.

He stilled. Forehead to hers. Breathing ragged. Her legs locked tight around his hips, heels digging into his ass.

Then he moved.

Not careful. Not controlled. Deep and hard, hips snapping, cock dragging against that perfect spot inside her with every thrust. The heavy desk creaked under them. Skin slapped skin. Raven’s back arched against the wood, breasts bouncing with every brutal stroke. Nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood. He said her name twice more—voice wrecked.

"Raven."

Raven met every thrust, hips rolling up to take him deeper, clenching tight around his cock, pulling that low broken groan out of him she’d never heard before.

"Vincent—yes, just like that," Raven moaned.

She came again. Harder. Pussy fluttering and squeezing around him, vision whiting out, a raw cry tearing from her throat. He followed right after—face buried in her neck, hands braced on the desk on either side of her, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside her, full weight pressing her down into the wood for one perfect second while he shuddered.

The room came back slow. Vincent’s heartbeat against Raven’s chest. Fast, then slowing. Vincent’s forehead dropped to Raven’s shoulder. Raven kept her hands on Vincent’s back, stroking lazy circles over the scratches she’d left.

After a minute Vincent lifted his head. Looked at her. Mask still gone. Just him.

Raven smiled, small and tired. "You could’ve done that weeks ago."

A beat. The corner of his mouth lifted. "I know."

That was all.

They moved eventually. Slow. Practical. Shirt back on. Vincent’s too. File rescued from the floor. No rush. No weirdness. Just easy.

The knife sat on the corner of the desk where she had left it earlier. She saw it. Old reflex twitched in her fingers—grab it, check the edge, keep it close.

Raven left it there. Picked up the file instead.

He watched. Didn’t say a word. Raven didn’t explain.

They ended up in his room because the hallway led there and neither of them turned away. Fire low in the grate. City lights outside. Raven stretched out beside Vincent, palm flat on his chest, feeling his heart slow under her fingers. Both of them staring at the ceiling.

"You okay?" Vincent asked, voice quiet.

She nodded against his shoulder. "Better than okay."

She didn’t poke at what this was. Didn’t need a label tonight. For once, that felt okay.

Raven closed her eyes.