His hand moved to my jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. The touch was feather-light, barely there, but it anchored me in place. I felt the world narrow—the city lights, the hum of the penthouse, the faint hiss of the record—all collapsing into the small, impossible distance between his mouth and mine.
He hesitated just long enough for me to feel the decision forming, and then he closed it.
The kiss was not what I expected.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t rough.
It was purecommand.
I told myself to resist—to let him think he was winning while I took what I needed—but the second his lips touched mine, the thought shattered. His mouth was warm, his breath mixing with mine. The air itself felt charged. I tasted the scotch on his tongue, the faint edge of smoke, and something purely him.
For half a heartbeat, I stayed frozen, every instinct screaming that I couldn’t afford this, but when his hand slid higher, fingers threading into my hair, I broke.
I kissed him back.
I meant to take back control, to lead, to make him follow my pace. Instead, he caught me effortlessly, turning my calculated defiance into total surrender. Then his grip tightened just enough to remind me who was winning this round.
The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the inside of my lower lip so smoothly it made my knees weaken. My breath stuttered against his mouth, and he pulled me closer until my body molded against his.
I should have stopped it right there, but the warmth of him, the way he tasted, the way his lips captured mine dragged me under like a riptide.
When he finally pulled back, his breath ghosted across my cheek. “You’re good at pretending,” he said softly, the faintest edge of amusement in his tone.
“So are you,” I whispered, trying to sound composed even as my pulse betrayed me.
“Maybe that’s why this works,” he murmured. “You hide; I hunt.”
I met his gaze, defiant and breathless. “Who says you’re the hunter?”
He smiled again, that same controlled, devastating grin. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Before I could reply, he moved back in. His fingers slid into my shoulder-length straight hair, threading through the strands until his palm found the back of my head. He tugged gently, drawing me closer to him, my breath catching right before his mouth found mine again.
This time, there was nothing measured about it. The kiss hit hard, all heat and intent. His grip tightened, holding me exactly where he wanted me, and my hands rose instinctively to his neck, searching for leverage that wasn’t there.
My heart was beating too fast, my body too aware of every place he touched. The edge of control I’d been clinging to dissolved into the warmth of his mouth, the steady pull of his fingers through my hair, the soft growl that escaped him when I finally stopped fighting and let him have me.
When he broke the kiss, his forehead rested against mine, his breath hot and uneven. “Still pretending?” he asked.
I didn’t trust my voice enough to answer.
He smiled against my lips, his tone dark with satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”
Then he moved. His hands slid down my back, finding the curve of my hips, and before I could protest, he lifted me. My legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, the fabric of my dress bunching around my thighs as he carried me across the room.He didn’t speak, didn’t look away, just walked me toward the bedroom like he’d already decided how the night would end.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want to stop him.
He walked into the master bedroom and placed me down on my back on a bed draped in charcoal silk, the sheets cool against my bare skin. He didn’t give me time to think, to reclaim the narrative, to remember why I’d come here. Instead, he climbed over me and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me flush against him. His gaze was heavy, a silent command that made the air between us thrum with a warm, reckless feeling.
I told myself this was fine. This was part of the role.
But the tremor that ran through me as his other hand slid up my thigh had nothing to do with ARCHEON.
He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear. “You’re not as hard to read as you think,” he whispered.
