“Fuck,” he mutters against my lips. “You're soaked.”
I clutch at his shirt, hips instinctively pressing forward into his touch. “Hex.”
Then he’s backing me up, steering me toward the nearest table with a hunger in his eyes that nearly buckles my knees.
Just as he shifts me toward it, I blurt out, “Wait! Not that one. It's got a broken leg.”
Hex stills, then withdraws his fingers with maddening slowness, dragging the moment out just to watch me come undone. I let out a breathy laugh, and he grins.
“Good to know.” His voice is low, wicked. “Wouldn’t want to give you more work.”
Before I can say anything else, he grabs me under my thighs and lifts me straight off the ground like I weigh nothing. I gasp as I wrap my legs instinctively around his waist. Our bodies flush, he kisses me deeper now.
“What about this one?” he mumbles over my lips, eyeing a desk near the wall.
“No,” I giggle, breathless. “That one’s from the thirties, and I haven’t sanded it yet. That’s a splinter in the ass just waiting to happen.”
He sets me back on my feet gently, though his hands linger on my body. “Maybe this isn’t the best place for all I want to do to you.”
I nod, still catching my breath. “I know. I’m sorry, this just... isn’t ideal for fooling around. We might end up needing tetanus shots.”
He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t step back. Just watches me, focused and still, committing every flicker of humor in my face to memory. Then he tilts his head and grumbles, “Take them off.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your leggings,” he says, dark eyebrows drawing together. “Take them off.”
Heat floods my face. “You’re serious?”
“If you don’t, I’ll do it for you.” His voice is calm. Confident. A challenge wrapped in velvet. “And I won’t leave them intact.”
We’re being serious.
I hesitate—just for a breath—and he’s already on his knees.
His hands grip the waistband of my leggings, and in one swift motion, he yanks them down past my hips. The fabric drags along my thighs like he’s peeling away resistance itself.
The breath leaves my body for good.
This man, a storm in human form whose gaze alone commands silence kneels.For me.
The sight knocks something loose in my chest. It’s more than arousal. It’s reverence. Worship. Power.Mine.Laid bare at the altar of my skin.
My legs go weak. My thighs clench. Heat blooms, deep and dizzying.
He doesn’t rush. Just looks up at me, eyes dragging over every inch like he’s savoring the shape of my uncertainty. Both knowing he’s two seconds away from unraveling me.
And maybe I’ve already come undone. Because something about seeing him like this—shoulders broad, knees biting into the floor, gaze locked on me like a promise—ignites a fire I didn’t know I carried. Unstoppable. Untouchable.Dangerous.
My hands tremble. He lifts my shirt. His mouth finds the flesh of my stomach. Everything fades.
“Hex—”
“You had your chance.”
He brushes warm kisses down one thigh. Then back up the other. Then his tongue traces the damp spot in my underwear, a wordless vow made of heat and pressure.
A moan slips out.
