His voice dropped, assessing, binding the air around us.
I backed up until the wall pressed against my spine.
Cold. Hard.
No escape. No space.
I opened my mouth—but no words came.
His chest was level with my eyes now—close enough that every breath I took brushed against him.
Rising and falling with a control that felt almost unnatural.
Heat poured off him in waves, thick and suffocating, wrapping around me until I could barely think straight.
I could smell him.
Clean skin.
Expensive. Male.
Everything my body shouldn’t have been reacting to—but was.
My nipples tightened sharply against the thin lace of my bra.
My breath hitched.
And lower—a traitorous ache pulsed.
“Speak.”
The word landed like a command meant to be obeyed.
My throat tightened.
I shook my head once.
“I’ve never dated anyone,” I said, voice barely steady, “never... had sex with anyone.”
The words felt too intimate.
Too exposed.
Something flickered across his face.
Surprise? Disbelief? Possession?
I couldn’t tell.
His expression smoothed back into that unreadable mask he wore so well.
His hand lifted.
Slow. Intentional.
Two fingers caught my chin.
Not rough. But not soft either.
