“Quite a place you’ve got here.” My voice sounds small in the vast space.
“It’s been in my family for generations. Though I’m the first in a long time to . . . fully appreciate its potential.”
I glance at him, brow quirked. “And what potential is that?”
“To push boundaries. To explore desires that most people are too afraid to acknowledge.” He steps closer, and I have to fight the urge to step back. “But that’s why you’re here. You’re tired of playing it safe, of always being the one in control. You want to see what happens when you let go.”
My heart pounds, a wild, erratic beat I can’t seem to calm. I want to laugh it off, to throw some sarcastic comment his way and reassert a level of control, but he’s right. As much as it scares me, as much as every instinct is screaming at me to run, I want to know what happens next.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to buckle under his presence. “What’s with the mask? You love it too much to take it off?”
He chuckles, his lips turning up at the corners in a charming smile. “I thought you liked masks. Yours was quite . . . original.”
I snort, my gaze flicking to the bag slung over my shoulder. “It should be. Some artist in Romania made it. An original piece I paid a shit ton of money for.”
“Did you bring it?”
“What fun would it be if I left it at home?”
Adrian closes the distance between us. He cups my cheek, the touch both gentle and commanding, then presses his lips to mine.
The kiss is slow, deliberate, intimate in a way that makes my head spin. It’s not just an invitation—it’s a promise, a challenge, a glimpse of what’s to come.
My body responds instinctively, leaning into the kiss. This isn’t how it usually goes. I’m the one who initiates, who takescontrol. But now, it’s like I’m being pulled under by a current I can’t see.
Adrian finally pulls away, his eyes dark with something I can’t quite read—something that makes my skin prickle. Then he takes my hand. “Come. Let me show you to your room.”
Chapter 4
The door closes behind me with a soft click, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the room. I lean back against it for a moment, letting out a slow breath. The guest room is extravagant—absurdly so. It’s far larger than my last apartment in the city, with floor-to-ceiling windows shrouded in heavy, velvet curtains.
Light spills across the polished wood floors, casting long, soft shadows that seem to shift and stretch as I move. The bed looms in the center of the room, draped in dark, luxurious sheets like a temptation I’m not ready to face, and a deep burgundy comforter looks plush enough to swallow me whole.
The knot in my stomach tightens.
It’s all dark elegance, yet nothing about it is safe or inviting, as if designed to make me feel small.
I swallow against the dryness in my throat and push off the door, taking a few slow steps into the room. The silence is choking, oppressive, like the very air of the house is pressingdown on me, trying to get inside my skin. My boots are too loud against the floors, the soft creak of the old boards underfoot like bones snapping in a forgotten tomb.
Sweat beads at my hairline, and I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension tightening there, and wander toward the windows, pulling back one of the thick curtains a few inches. The night outside is a dark, impenetrable void. No stars. No moon. Just a thick haze of fog rolling past the glass pane, as though the house is floating in some liminal space, cut off from the rest of the world.
I let the curtain fall back into place, then catch a glimpse of myself in the antique mirror hanging on the wall above the stone fireplace dominating one wall. The face staring back at me is familiar, but there’s something off. Same tousled brown hair, same sharp jawline, same lips that are perhaps a bit too full for a man’s face.
But my eyes . . . there’s something different in them tonight.
It’s like I’m looking at a version of myself that’s been . . . altered. Stripped of something fundamental, as if I’m fucking see-through, and the guy in the mirror knows it.
Is this what Adrian sees when he looks at me? This raw, exposed version of myself that I’ve spent years trying to hide?
After placing my duffel bag on the mattress, I take off my jacket and toss it onto the bed. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I tap on one of my favorite social media apps. Maybe watching some stupid reels will ease my nerves, ground me in something normal and mundane.
But it doesn’t load.
“Of course. No fucking reception.”
I walk around the room, angling the phone to try and catch a signal. What the hell does Adrian expect me to do when we aren’t fucking?
After tossing my phone onto the bed next to my jacket, I make my way into the en suite bathroom and splash cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the unease. I grip the edges of the marble sink as the droplets fall, trying to steady myself.
