The Angel stares back as if reading my mind.
I lean in, my mouth close to her ear. “Come with me.”
She exhales softly.
And smiles.
Her wings spread when she moves, brushing my arm. Soft, like real feathers, like sin disguised as sanctity. A flash of bare skin where the lace rides up her hips. My hands are itching.
I'm a grown man, theoretically in control, yet I almost moan.
We leave, and no one stops us.
The corridor is quieter. Darker. The music is just a beat through the walls. The lights here are cold, more shadow than gold. Black walls. Brass sconces. Cameras in the corners.
She walks a few steps ahead of me. Cruel.
Her ass in that lace is—
Fuck, I need to get some self-control.
When we reach the door without a handle, I try the password. Technically, if someone is already inside, it shouldn't open. Unless… they don't want to get caught.
Open.
Obvious. Of course, this place has a room for this.
What’s less obvious is that no one has already occupied it.
Inside it’s dark, blue light instead of golden. Fewer mirrors, more shadows. A couch against the wall—low, wide, deliberately so. Small table, sink, full-length mirror, spare towels, a camera in the corner with the red light off.
I go in first. Check.
Off indeed. Either someone disabled it, or this is a “VIP” room and VIPs don’t want to be filmed. Good for me. Good for her.
When I turn around, she’s already inside, leaning against the door, one eyebrow raised as if I just passed a test.
She’s the one who locks the door from the inside.
“So,” she says softly, “now what?”
I don’t touch her right away.
I trap her.
One hand beside her head. The other on the wall near her waist. My body in her space, close enough to feel the heat, not close enough for contact.
Her breathing stops.
There it is, the moment.
“Now,” I murmur, “you tell me your sin.”
Her lips part.
Her tongue slides slowly over her lower lip. She knows I’m watching. She’s doing it on purpose. She bites it gently.
“Temptation,” she whispers.
