I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me.
The click of the latch echoed through the darkness, and I crossed the room toward them.
Oliver tracked my approach, his fingers still pressed to her heat. She was trembling, and her gaze darted between him and me as if she could not decide who posed the greater danger.
I stopped within arm’s reach. Near enough to smell her arousal and his sweat. Close enough to see how they both leaned toward me, drawn by a gravity they didn’t understand.
“Continue.” The command came out low and absolute, a voice that expected obedience and received it.
Oliver’s breathing hitched. He searched my face, but I gave him nothing but the weight of my expectation.
His hand began stroking.
Ophelia gasped, and her eyes fluttered closed as Oliver’s fingers resumed their work, stroking through her folds with a deliberateness that had not been there before. He was performing for me now. They both were.
“Slower.” I kept my voice even. “I want to hear her.”
Oliver’s rhythm changed, drawing out each stroke until Ophelia whimpered. The sound went straight to my cock.
I knew how to do this. I had commanded dozens of scenes like this, orchestrating pleasure without participating, directing bodies without touching them. The distance kept everyone safe.
“Kiss her neck,” I told him. “Just below her ear.”
He complied. Ophelia’s fingers gripped his shoulders, and her hips rocked against his hand. Arousal built in my own body as they rocked together, her chasing her release under my direction.
This was enough. I could give them this—give them each other, give them the commands that heightened every sensation—and walk away untouched. I’d done it before. I could do it again.
“Faster now. Make her come.”
Oliver’s fingers quickened. Ophelia gasped, and her whole body tensed. I watched as she climbed, teetered on the edge, then came apart.
She sagged against Oliver, trembling in the aftermath. He held her steady, his own breath ragged and his cock hard against her hip. God, I wanted them.
I should let the scene end here. I’d given them what they needed. There was no reason to stay.
Then Ophelia opened her eyes.
She looked at me through a haze of bliss, her mouth soft and her skin flushed. Her gaze dropped to my chest, to my hands clenched at my sides, to the erection I couldn’t hide, and her face changed. Not with desire alone. Recognition. She saw what this was costing me.
“Kiernan.” My name from her lips was a question and an invitation. She reached for me.
I stepped away, and she dropped her hand.
Confusion flickered across her face, then worse.Understanding.
“You’re not going to touch us.” It wasn’t a question.
“No.”
I’d said the word countless times to people who’d wanted more than I could give. Then, it had been final. Now, it might not be.
Oliver’s expression was unreadable, but the question was forming in his mind. Why? Why command them through that, why stand close enough to feel the heat of their bodies, why look at them with hunger I couldn’t hide—then refuse to take what they were offering?
I couldn’t explain. I couldn’t tell them about those who’d crumbled under the weight of my wanting. I couldn’t make them understand that the wall was not punishment but protection. That I stayed outside because those I’d permitted entry ended up broken.
“Get some sleep,” I said. “Both of you.”
I turned toward the door.
