“No?” he murmurs. “Then why do you look like that in the mirror?”
I glance again—mistake.
Because the girl staring back?
She looks flushed. Lit from within. Eyes darker. Mouth slightly open like she’s waiting to be kissed or destroyed—maybe both.
She looks like she wants this.
Even if I still don’t know what this is.
Dax doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to.
His voice does all the damage.
“You want to know what happens in a room like this?”
I nod.
“You sure?”
Another nod. Smaller this time. Like if I make it small enough, I can pretend it won’t have consequences.
He stands.
Fuck.
Every inch of him is power. Measured. Controlled. But underneath it—there’s something rough. Unhinged. Like he could snap and never look back.
I should be scared.
I’m not.
I’m shaking, though.
He walks toward me—slow, deliberate—and when he gets close, he crouches in front of me like a wolf studying its prey.
His eyes drag up my legs.
Over my hips.
Up my chest.
Until he’s staring right into mine.
“You want to feel what it’s like to be seen, don’t you?” he says, barely louder than the hum of the room.
“I—”
He lifts a hand.
Brushes my knee.
Just the edge of his knuckles. No pressure.
But it still feels like a warning.
Or a promise.
