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“No.”

“Answer the question.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Do you want them watching?”

“Not yet.”

An honest answer. I reward it with a second finger. Her head drops.

I pull her hair until she faces the mirror again.

“Watch.”

“Bossy.”

“You haven’t seen bossy.”

I move my fingers inside her, studying every change in her expression. The way her lips separate. The way her forehead creases when I curl them. The way she tries to rock backward without making it obvious. She’s close too quickly. Rhys left her body sensitive and desperate. I stop. Her glare could burn through the mirror.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Do what he did.”

“What did he do?”

“Stopped.”

I slowly withdraw my fingers.

“Then you should’ve said I was your favorite.”

“I’ve known you for twelve minutes.”

“And it’s been the best twelve minutes of your life.”

“Rhys made me come.”

Jealousy bites through my amusement. It’s irrational. That doesn’t make it less effective.

“Did he?”

“You watched.”

“Tell me how good it was.”

She blinks.

“That sounds like a trap.”

“Everything inside this maze is a trap.”

I lower my hand. A sharp slap lands between her thighs. Sloane gasps and rocks against the counter. Not pain. Shock. Heat. Her eyes darken.

“Tell me,” I repeat.