Her breathing changes. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there.
As if every pulse of air in the room pushes her a little closer to me.
“Cohen, don’t ruin everything right now.”
“Who said I’m ruining it?”
I lean in slightly, and she tenses up.
My knee brushes hers.
Her gaze flicks between my eyes and my mouth, then locks onto me again.
“We’re not… really on a date.”
“Oh no? Because I kind of like to be remembered afterward. Shouldn’t you get the full package for your evaluation?”
I move closer again, the heat of our bodies merging.
“Cohen,” she whispers.
“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave.”
She doesn't answer.
Just a small movement of her throat as she swallows.
Her fingers tap on her knee, then stop.
I lean down, slowly, my voice low, close to her ear.
“Hey… relax. It’s just a simulation, right?”
She laughs. A nervous laugh.
A small, incredulous sound that hits me right in the gut.
Then she gets serious again and looks at me, irritated. “Yeah, and you’re my client. And one of the worst I’ve ever had.”
If I weren’t so turned on, I might start laughing and never stop. Only Sloane Heart could react like this at a moment like this.
She wets her lips again. Her breath stutters, and I know—absolutely know—that all this composure is a lie.
“I don’t think you’ll still consider me the worst after this date simulation,” I murmur against her ear.
She doesn't pull away. She remains in the chair, motionless.
“I’m asking you one last time, Angel. If you stop me now, I'll leave, otherwise it will be too late.”
She inhales.
But she doesn’t speak.
I give her a little more time. To reconsider. To evaluate. Fuck, I hope she doesn’t.
The clock ticks a few times. I move my hands a little closer to her again, and when enough time has passed to understand that I have permission, I grab her with more decision.
I rest my hands on her legs. Then I grasp her knees and open them wide.
