His expression didn’t flicker.
Not even a twitch.
He released his iron grip on my waist and stepped back—but instead of leaving, he paused.
Slowly, he shrugged off his charcoal suit jacket, folding it neatly over the armchair as if marking his territory.
His hands moved to his cuffs, one button after another.
Every motion was intentional.
My eyes couldn’t leave him.
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms corded with strength, veins faint beneath the skin.
Power, contained.
LAnd then—he unbuttoned his shirt.
One. Two. Three buttons undone.
Each revealed more—muscle, tanned skin, a lean body built for control, for violence, for dominance.
I hated that my eyes followed.
Hated that my body betrayed me, heat blooming low and sharp despite the anger, despite the humiliation.
I pressed my thighs together, forcing myself back into into control.
He removed the shirt completely, hanging it carefully beside the jacket.
Now fully facing me, wearing only black tailored trousers, the leather belt catching the dim light, the hard line beneath it undeniable.
My breath hitched before I could stop it.
“Come here,” he said.
Low.
Commanding.
I stepped back.
“No.”
The word cracked, almost a plea.
He advanced anyway.
One step.
Then another.
Deliberate, certain, closing every inch of space.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
“Have you known a man before?”
