Not rushed.
Not angry.
Just steady.
And when he reached me?—
He didn’t ask.
His fingers touched the knot.
And the robe fell open.
He stared at me like I was the last thing in the world worth touching.
The robe hit the floor. His hands didn’t shake. But mine did. I stood there, bare, exposed. Wolfe behind him. Watching. Breathing. Silent.
Barron stepped forward, his hand rising to cup my cheek, then sliding down slowly to my collarbone. His thumb grazed the edge of a healing bruise, and his jaw flexed like the sight of it carved something open inside him.
“You’re still soft,” he murmured.
Not cruel.
Not mocking.
Just… surprised.
His palm spanned my chest, then drifted down the valley between my breasts. My nipples pebbled beneath the weight of his stare. My thighs clenched on instinct.
He looked down.
“She’s wet already,” he said. Not to me.
To Wolfe.
I didn’t dare look back.
“Touch her,” Wolfe said quietly.
That was all.
Barron groaned low in his throat. The sound rumbled through my chest before his mouth claimed mine.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t sweet.
It was desperate.
His tongue slid between my lips with a hunger I hadn’t tasted from him before. Not in boardrooms. Not in stares. Not in war.
This wasn’t power.
This wasneed.
His hands were everywhere. Spanning my hips. Squeezing my ass. Guiding me backward until my knees hit the bed.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t hesitate. He just lowered me. The mattress hit my spine. And Barron followed.
