Page 33
“And what exactly are you used to, Selene?” I ask, turning to face her.
For a beat, uncertainty flickers across her face, but she doesn’t back away. Not from the sudden shift in my tone, nor from the weight of my gaze.
“With men… old enough to be men.”
That does it.
All bets are off, babe.
Without another word, I cross the room, take her hand, and pull her effortlessly to her feet. She follows with only the faintest resistance as I lead her straight into my room.
Once inside, I turn her just enough to throw her off balance, catching her a second later, both hands steadying her as her body collides with mine. For one suspended heartbeat, the pull between us feels dangerously real. Intimate in a way neither of us should allow.
When I’m sure she has her footing right again, I step back and stop in front of the armchair.
“Strip,” I command.
Simple.
Cold.
Almost detached.
Meanwhile, my blood burns beneath my skin. Every muscle is locked under ruthless control, and even keeping my expression neutral takes more effort than I care to admit. My voice is no different.
“What?” She looks around in confusion.
On the small table between the two armchairs sits a tray with a chilled bottle of whiskey and two glasses, probably left there by the staff.
Lowering into the chair with deliberate ease, I uncork the bottle, then pour myself a generous glass.
After taking a few slow sips, I repeat in the same calm tone, “Strip. Let’s see how much of a woman you really are.”
The challenge ignites a fire in her eyes. Instead of backing down, her expression hardens with quiet determination.
“Are you sure you can handle…”
“Stop talking,” I cut her off before she can finish what I already know is another jab. “Show me.”
Her tongue glides slowly across her lower lip, then she catches it gently between her teeth, every movement precise. Walking toward me at an unhurried pace, her hips sway sensually, turning each step into a silent challenge.
And suddenly, the air in the room feels tighter.
Heavier.
She stops in front of me, using one leg to ease mine apart, managing to keep her balance on those insanely high heels.
Leaning in, every bit as sensual as before, she starts unbuttoning my shirt.
It’s unbearably warm, so I’m only wearing a black linen shirt with matching pants. Both are dark, light on my skin.
I watch her in silence, taking another slow sip of whiskey. I can’t tell whether she’s putting on an act or if she’s always this confident, but she carries herself with effortless ease.
Let’s see how long that lasts.
Because tonight, every limit is about to be tested.
Once she finishes unbuttoning my shirt, she lifts a finger to her lips and catches her nail lightly between her teeth in an undeniably provocative gesture.
