Her breath catches, her cheeks paling. She knows.
And, fuck me, I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
But that doesn’t stop the throbbing between my legs.
“Mr. Walker,” she whispers.
The sound of my name on her lips makes my jaw clench.
I should step back.
I don’t.
I let my fingers brush her waist, just enough to remind her who’s in control.
“So,” I murmur, taking her in. “You’re my clumsy little dancer.”
She flushes, shifting on her feet.
“I’m sorry, if I’d have known?—”
“Do I make you nervous?”
My voice is low, sharp, sliding down her spine like a blade.
She doesn’t answer right away. But I see it.
The way she squeezes her thighs together.
My cock twitches.
She’s playing a dangerous game.
“Brooklyn.” I murmur her name like a warning. “I asked you a question.”
She finally meets my gaze. “No, Mr. Walker. You’re just… not what I expected.”
I smirk. “No? What did you expect?”
She doesn’t answer. She turns away.
Wrong move.
I grab her waist, yanking her back.
She crashes against my chest, small hands bracing against me, her lips parting in shock.
Her body is soft everywhere.
Her breath came in trembling gasps.
I press my nose to hers, just close enough to make her ache for me.
“Brooklyn,” I murmur, my lips barely an inch from hers. “You don’t want to start this game with me.”
A soft sound escapes her—a breathy, desperate little moan.
Fucking hell.
