He squeezes once—slow and sure. “Good. Because I don’t like the thought of anyone touching what’s mine.”
The wordminelands heavy. It shouldn’t, but it does. I lift a brow, tracing my fingertip along the rim of my glass. “Careful with that word,” I say. “You already share me, remember? Velvet partners, and I’m gonna start seeing someone else outside the club. You know that.”
He leans back in the booth, the corner of his mouth curling. “Your partners at Velvet don’t know you like I do,” he says. “They don’t see you outside those walls. You’re mine…and his. Unless someone else has entered the game?”
I shake my head. “No. Just the two of you. And it’s… new with him. Really new. I only just gave him my number.”
His eyes darken with something between curiosity and possession. “When do I get to meet this other guy?”
I bite my bottom lip, half teasing, half avoiding the question. “Soon,” I promise, even thoughsoonfeels like a dangerous word.
He hums, satisfied for now, and lifts his drink again. “Good. I like knowing who I’m competing with.”
I smile, soft but deliberate. “You’re not competing. You’re just playing different positions.”
That earns me a low laugh, quiet enough that it lingers between us like smoke.
By dessert, we’re both laughing and stuffed. He tells me about a client who wanted a koi pond on the fourth floor. I tell him about a previous student who turned in a paper written entirely by AI. We laugh, we flirt, and when the check comes, he doesn’t even look at the total.
Outside, the night air is cool and soft against my skin. He holds the door open for me like he always does, but there’s that look again—the one that’s half hunger, half patience.
The drive to his place feels shorter than it should. His building’s all clean lines and glass. Inside, the elevator ride is quiet except for the way my pulse picks up when he shifts closer.
He unlocks the door, letting me in first. The apartment smells like peppermint and something faintly lemony, the kind of scent that lingers on expensive furniture and expensive men.
“Drink?” he asks, shrugging off his jacket.
I shake my head. “I’ve had enough.”
He nods, crosses the room, and sets two glasses on the counter, anyway. When he turns back, his eyes drag down my dress like he’s remembering every inch.
“You've been quiet since we left the restaurant,” he says.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“How good you look when you’re trying to be patient.”
That earns me a laugh. “You really want to test that theory?”
I take a step closer. “Maybe.”
He closes the distance. His hand finds my jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “You know what happens when you push, Little Menace.”
“I usually get what I want.”
He smiles. “Not tonight.”
The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way. His mouth moves like he’s claiming space, like every exhale is a reminder of who I am with him. His hands trace the curve of my back, find the tie of my wrap dress, and pull until the fabric sighs apart.
I let him. That’s the deal. Here, I don’t have to think or plan. Here, I get to let go.
The couch catches me when he pushes me back onto it, the leather cool against my skin. He kisses down my neck, leaving warmth in his wake. When I arch, he laughs quietly; the sound brushes my ear.
“Still trying to be in charge?” he murmurs.
“Maybe a little.”
