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“For me?” I ask, and Daemon nods.

“You won’t like it though.”

Stepping around Daemon’s large jetted tub, I approach the box warily. The soft velvet comforter squishes beneath me as I lower myself to the mattress and break through the ribbon, tossing it aside. My breathing catches when I peek into the box, and my gaze shoots to Daemon, whose eyes are hooded, his lips flattened into a cool mask. He’s right; I hate it.

No.

Nuh-uh.

Absolutely not.

I unspool the outfit, but I really shouldn’t call it that. It’s nothing but black leather straps under the guise of a bodysuit. There’s no bra or underwear, just little golden circles that attach the straps together. “I can’t, Daemon,” I tell him, even as moisture pools between my thighs. Never in my life have I been so exposed, not even for the few romantic partners I’ve had.

“You can,” he says. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“But all those people will see me…” I hold the bodysuit so tightly my nails dig into my palms.

“That’s the point, Annie.” He approaches me slowly, the bed creaking and dipping as he joins me on it. “I want people to see you. If they’re looking at you, they’re not looking at that stone. Please, at least try it on.”

I shoot him a withering look, but stand anyway, searching for his camouflaged bathroom. Maybe I’ll still chicken out. Or maybe I’ll strangle Daemon with those leather straps when this is all finished. But I owe it to myself to at least try this plan. Surely, I can expose myself for one night if it means saving myself from an eternity of exposure.

Before I can take a step toward the bathroom, Daemon kicks his leg out, stopping me. “Not in there,” he says. “Out here.”

“You want me to undress in front of you?” My tone is as incredulous as I feel, but Daemon seems nonplussed.

“Annie, this is never going to work if you’re already getting shy.”

I know that.

This plan requires Daemon to see every part of me—whether it starts now or at the club is irrelevant. Still, my cheeks flame with embarrassment as I set the bodysuit aside and fumble with the buttons on Christopher’s shirt, shrugging it off my shoulders. The white fabric floats to the floor in a puddle, and I squirm under Daemon’s scrutiny, my nipples tightening into stiff peaks.

He doesn’t say anything. He just waits for me to unclasp my bra as well—this lacy thing that already hides nothing. Staring at the plush red carpet, I do just that, ignoring how the heat in my cheeks spreads lower, until that space between my thighs aches. The urge to cover my breasts with my palms is overwhelming, but I don’t. I focus on my feet instead, kicking my shoes off before unbuttoning my jeans and shimmying them down my hips. Soon the only thing between us is a thin layer of silk that covers my most intimate parts from view.

And then there’s not even that.

“God, Annie, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Daemon whispers as I pull my panties down, then step out of them.

If I wasn’t already blushing, I would be now. No one has ever spoken about me like that before, and while I know I’m not ugly, I’m not model-pretty either. I’m more bony than curvy, with breasts that are on the smaller side. But the way he’s looking at me now, it doesn’t feel that way.

Daemon climbs off the bed and makes a slow circle around me, so close I can feel his warm breath, can smell his expensive cologne. Goosebumps pebble my skin and I shiver as he plants his hands on my hips and pulls me flush against his leather riding jacket. At first, I squirm at the contact, but Daemon tightens his grip.

“Deep breaths, Annie,” he purrs, his lips ghosting my ear.

I practically melt into him.

“I’m going to touch you tonight,” he reminds me. “And the longer we’re there, the more I’ll have to touch you. You can’t pull away from me, or else they’ll realize you don’t belong. Do you understand?”

I nod.

Daemon has already told me the basics. Incubi have the power to glamour people; they can look into their eyes and issue commands that their human pets can’t ignore. There’s no limit to what they can force another person to do. Anything that Daemon says, I’ll have to obey, or else the demons will realize I’m not being spelled.

“I’m going to be mean,” he says. “I’m going to act cold and make demands of you that you may not like.” As if to emphasize his point, Daemon slides one of his hands lower and cups my smooth pussy. Shame fills me, because I already know what he’s found there.

“If you want me to stop—”

“Just tug on my earlobe,” I say. We already discussed safe words—or in this case, safe gestures.

“Right. I’ll be watching for it. If you tug on your earlobe, I’ll teleport us back home and we can try again later.”