12. First Impressions
First Impressions
~ELIZABETH~
" E ighteen rooms," I mutter, shaking my head as we enter through massive double doors that probably cost more than my entire academy tuition. "This isn't a house. It's a small country."
The foyer alone is bigger than my entire dorm building, with soaring ceilings that disappear into carefully crafted shadows. Everything screams designer chic—from the Italian marble floors to the avant-garde sculptures that look like they belong in the MoMA.
Black and gold dominate the color scheme, creating an atmosphere that's both intimidating and eerily beautiful. The walls, painted in the deepest shade of black I've ever seen, make the gold accents pop like stars against a midnight sky. Modern art pieces, all abstract and probably worth millions, hang at perfectly calculated intervals.
"This doesn't feel homey at all," I observe, running my fingers along a pristine black console table that looks like it's never actually been used. "It's like walking through an issue of Architectural Digest, but without the soul."
Felix, who's been silently observing my every reaction since we started this impromptu tour, lets out a small snort.
"Holmes was in charge of decorating," he says, adjusting his tech-enhanced glasses that I've been dying to ask more about since I first noticed them.
I’d even dare get a pair.
Carter rolls his eyes.
"More like he strong-armed his way into being in charge of decorating."
"Let me guess," I say, pausing to examine a particularly striking gold sculpture that somehow manages to look both beautiful and diabolically questionable. "No one else cared enough to fight him on it?"
"Something like that," Carter admits, his hand gliding along my back to my lower spine as he guides me through another impossibly grand room.
"Well, it's a shitty decision," I declare, earning shocked looks from both men. I’m sure they’re not used to a female’s open opinion. Especially an Omega no less. "This place looks like one of those celebrity homes they use to show off their wealth on Instagram, but have never actually lived in. You know the type—where everything's for show, but you can tell no one's ever thrown a real party or actually sat on any of the furniture."
Carter bursts out laughing, the sound echoing off the high ceilings and pristine walls.
"Oh God," he manages between chuckles, "I hope Holmes doesn't hear that through the hidden cameras and speakers, or you're just going to make it harder for him to accept you."
"The cameras definitely picked that up," Felix confirms, though there's a hint of amusement in his usually stoic expression. "I could try to erase it from the feed if he's in a decent mood after your meeting."
"Hell to the fuck no, you won't!"
I stop walking, turning to face them both with my arms crossed. My hip cocks to the left—a stance I've perfected over years of dealing with entitled Alphas who think they can dictate my life.
Both men look surprised by my sudden defiance, which only fuels my determination.
"First of all, I'm not afraid of this Holmes dude," I declare, lifting my chin. "And second, there's no way Felix is tampering with anything because I'm not afraid of speaking my mind."
I gesture to the sterile space around us before pointing at Carter.
"You're into cars, right? Fast, beautiful machines that probably make your heart race just thinking about them. Yet there's not a single picture, model, or even a hint that someone in this house appreciates automotive excellence." I shake my head in disappointment. "That gorgeous Ferrari out there probably feels lonely as hell, parked in whatever museum-like garage you've got hidden away."
Carter's expression shifts from surprised to thoughtful as I turn my attention to Felix.
"And you," I say, pointing at him. "You're into gadgets and technology—which, by the way, I only know because Carter mentioned it, but I want to learn those details from you directly when I get the chance." I nod toward his glasses. "Those are pretty goal-worthy, and it's refreshing to meet a guy who keeps up with tech instead of just being obsessed with wrestling and whatever else makes them appear cool and growly to the rest of the world."
Felix's eyebrows shoot up above his frames, and I swear I see the ghost of a smile touch his lips.
"But again," I continue, spinning in a slow circle with my arms outstretched, "where's the evidence that anyone actually lives here? Where are the personal touches? The little things that make a house feel like more than just an expensive showroom?"
I stop spinning, facing them both with my hands on my hips.
"If Holmes wants to intimidate me with his perfect museum of a house, he's going to have to try harder. Because right now?" I gesture to a particularly austere black and gold painting that probably cost more than my entire life. "All this tells me is that someone's trying way too hard to prove something."
The silence that follows my outburst is deafening.
Carter and Felix exchange a look I can't quite interpret, and for a moment, I wonder if I've gone too far. But then Carter's face breaks into that devastating grin that made me want to climb him like a tree in the first place.
"You," he says, stepping closer to cup my face in his hands, "are absolutely amazing."
I try to maintain my defiant expression, but it's hard when he's looking at me like that— like I'm something precious and wild all at once.
"I'm serious," I mutter, though my voice has lost some of its edge. "This place needs some personality. Some life. Something that shows actual humans live here and not just very wealthy robots programmed for aesthetic perfection."
Felix clears his throat, and when I look over, he's definitely fighting back a smile.
"The hidden cameras and speakers aren't just for show," he says, tapping his glasses meaningfully. "They're part of an integrated security system I designed. The house learns patterns, adapts to threats, and can run autonomously if needed."
My eyes widen with interest.
"Really? That's actually pretty cool. Is it AI-based or more of a sophisticated pattern recognition system?"
Now it's Felix's turn to look surprised.
"You know the difference?"
I shrug, trying not to feel self-conscious under his scrutiny.
"I might have taken some computer science classes at Harvard before..." I trail off, not wanting to complete that thought. "Let's just say I had diverse interests before dancing became my current obsession."
"Interesting," Felix murmurs, and I can practically see him filing that information away for later analysis.
Carter's hands drop from my face, as he enjoys brushing a few strands that fell from my messy bun hair style. He immediately finds my lower back again, guiding me down another hall toward what I assume is Holmes's office.
"Ready to meet the man behind the aesthetic tyranny?" he asks, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something more serious.
I straighten my spine, squaring my shoulders as if I’m ready to confront some sort of final boss in a video game.
"Bring it on," I say, even as my heart starts racing. "But just so you know, if his office is all black and gold too, I'm going to have opinions about it."
"Of course you will," Felix mutters, but there's definitely amusement in his voice now. Carter leans down to whisper in my ear as we approach a set of imposing double doors.
"Just remember," he says softly, "no matter what happens in there, you've already got two out of three of us on your side."
I turn to look at him, surprised.
"Really? Both of you?"
Felix adjusts his glasses again, and this time I'm sure I see a smile.
"Anyone who can call out the pretentiousness of this place within five minutes of arriving has my vote," he says. "Though I might regret that when Holmes makes us all sleep in the garage for letting you criticize his decorating choices."
"At least the garage probably has some personality," I quip, making both men stifle laughs.
"Well," I say, squaring my shoulders, "let's go meet the king of this very expensive, very soulless castle. But seriously, after this, we need to talk about adding some color to this place. I'm thinking maybe a nice electric blue. Really shake things up."
I take the lead in walking forward, and the last thing I hear is Felix muttering,
"Holmes is going to eat her alive," followed immediately by Carter's confident reply.
"Nah, my money's on her."
It makes me smirk with anticipation.
We head further into the massive space until I lead them straight to a room down the end of the hall.
"I'm surprised you found his office so quickly," Felix remarks as we approach the end of yet another pristine hallway.
I gesture dramatically to the only black door in the entire wing, adorned with "HOLMES" written in elaborate golden cursive that probably cost more than my annual dance budget.
"Well shit, I wouldn't have guessed who this belongs to," I deadpan, making Carter snicker uncontrollably while Felix tries and fails to hide the smirk playing at his lips, adjusting his glasses in what I'm starting to recognize as a nervous habit.
"Well, let's get this over with," I announce, reaching for the ornate golden doorknob.
"Maybe knock first—" Felix suggests, but I'm already turning the handle.
"Why? Is he that pretentious about?—"
"He might be in a meeting—" Carter starts to warn, but we all freeze at the scene before us.
A dark-haired woman in what has to be a designer dress has her perfectly manicured fingers jabbing into the chest of who can only be Holmes, having apparently just broken what looked like quite an intense kiss.
Well then…what a nice ‘welcome to my office’ greeting.
"I don't care if the other two hate my guts," she's saying, her tone dripping with determination. Her voice carries the kind of entitled confidence that makes my skin crawl. "I will be the Omega your pack chooses."
The awkward tableau gives me a moment to really take in Holmes himself, and... holy shit.
He's wearing what I instantly recognize as a Tom Ford O'Connor suit in the deepest shade of charcoal I've ever seen.
The cut is immaculate, clearly tailored to his impressive frame with the kind of precision that screams money and power. The fabric alone probably costs more than my entire academy wardrobe, and the way it sits on his broad shoulders makes it clear why Tom Ford is considered the king of menswear.
His crisp white dress shirt provides a stark contrast, and his tie—a subtle pattern in shades of gray and black—is clearly Hermès. The look is completed by highly polished Oxford shoes that I'd bet my life are John Lobb.
Everything about his appearance is calculated to project authority and refined taste, down to the platinum cufflinks catching the light.
But it's his physical presence that truly commands attention. He has to be at least 6'5", with the kind of lean muscle that speaks of martial arts training rather than gym rat dedication. His black hair is styled in that perfectly imperfect way that probably took an hour to achieve, with distinguished touches of gray at his temples that make him look sophisticated rather than aged.
A light stubble graces his strong jawline, carefully maintained at that perfect length between rugged and refined. His features are aristocratic—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and lips that would be almost pretty if they weren't set in such a stern line.
What catches me completely off guard, though, is the black silk blindfold covering his eyes. It's clearly custom-made, probably from the finest Chinese silk available, and sits against his skin like a shadow. The contrast against his pale complexion is striking, making him look like some kind of modern-day warrior martial arts master who’s in a meditation state.
Minus the whole crossed-leg yoga pose.
The whole effect is both intimidating and impossibly elegant, like someone took all the danger of an apex predator and wrapped it in the finest packaging money could buy.
Is he actually blind?
The thought hits me suddenly, making me reassess everything about the room's layout and the way he carries himself. But something about his posture, the way he seems perfectly aware of everything around him, makes me wonder if there's more to the story.
Not to mention this type of house doesn’t benefit one who has absent sight. No modifications or anything.
Even if it was hidden, there would still be hints here and there, and I’m observant enough to catch those in my initial scan of this place during our unexpected tour.
The silence stretches, heavy with tension, as we all stand frozen in this unexpected moment of collision.
My attention reluctantly shifts to the brunette, and I can't help but do a mental inventory of what I'm up against.
Her curves are excessive in that way that screams "designer body"—the kind you purchase rather than earn through hard work. Her breasts strain against her designer dress in a way that defies physics, and I find myself tilting my head slightly as I take in what has to be one of the most obvious BBLs I've ever seen.
Everything about her is carefully crafted to appeal to traditional Alpha tastes.
As if sensing my assessment, she takes a step forward, perfectly manicured hand extended in a gesture that's probably meant to be welcoming but comes across as condescending.
"I'm Victoria Sinclair," she announces, her voice dripping with the kind of practiced sweetness that sets my teeth on edge. "Holmes's girlfriend."
The word hits me like a physical blow, though I maintain my neutral expression.
"I'm sure you've heard of me," she continues, either oblivious to or enjoying my discomfort. "My interior design firm has been featured in Architectural Digest three times this year alone and a multi-award winner. I’m sure we’re going to secure this year’s annual because we’ve never declined in popularity and grace. In fact," she gestures around the office with a proprietary air, "I helped transform this place from its plain Jane beginnings. It was practically provincial before I got my hands on it."
Well, that explains the soulless museum vibe.
"I'm just so excited about my transfer to Knot Academy," she gushes, smoothing down her skin-tight dress. I’m sure she’s bringing this up because Carter is still in his uniform, especially with him taking his blazer back from me so he could enjoy holding me from behind as we’d gone through the tour. "Of course, I'll need to be moved from Death Knot to Hard Knot. It's simply not appropriate for someone of my... refinement, to be housed with such dangerous elements. But that's just a formality, really."
She laughs, the sound as artificial as her curves.
"After all, I'm only joining to help Holmes and his pack with their little reformed status situation. They need an Omega of suitable breeding and background, don't you think?"
Why would I know or give a damn about all this shit?
The way I want to roll my eyes at her obvious play of theatrics.
I force my lips into a smile, even as something in my chest constricts painfully. It's not rejection that's making my heart race uncomfortably— this isn't rejection, not really. This is just... initiation. A reminder that nothing in life comes easily, especially not for the Forgotten Omega of Hard Knot Academy.
God, I'm such an idiot.
Five years of carefully constructed walls, of protecting myself from exactly this kind of situation, and I let them crumble for what? A few heated kisses and some pretty words? I can’t regret the sex though. That shit was addicting and sinfully delicious. The chemistry with Carter might be real, but clearly, I'm not the only one in the running for this position.
Position.
Like it's a job interview and not my entire future at stake.
My eyes drift back to Holmes, who hasn't moved or spoken since we entered.
The blindfold suddenly takes on new significance as I consider what it might mean for his other senses. They say when you lose one sense, the others compensate— become heightened to fill the void.
His hearing must be incredible.
The thought sends my mind spinning in unexpected directions.
If his hearing is enhanced, what about his other senses?
Touch? Taste? Smell?
The things he could do with those heightened senses...
The image that flashes through my mind is entirely inappropriate for the current situation, but I can't help the way my lips curve into a knowing smirk.
"What's so funny?" Victoria demands, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drawing together in confusion and annoyance.
My smile only grows wider as I consider my response, knowing full well that Holmes can probably hear every subtle change in my breathing, every slight shift in my position.
This could get interesting…or chaotic. I’m willing to take my chances.
The tension in the room shifts, becoming charged with something electric as I prepare my response.
"I'm just amused," I say, letting every ounce of disdain drip from my voice, "because you keep talking like anyone actually wanted to know who the fuck you are."
Carter's laughter explodes through the room, sharp and uncontrolled. Even Felix can't maintain his usual stoic expression, his lips twitching as he adjusts his glasses.
"You're a blunt one, aren't you, Abercrombie?" Felix muses, sounding more impressed than disapproving.
I arch an eyebrow at him.
"Was I supposed to be submissive and girly? Pretend this woman didn't waltz in here and position herself like some sort of dominance display?"
A laugh bubbles up from my chest as I push away from the doorway.
Each step I take is deliberately measured, my hips swaying with the kind of practiced grace that comes from years of dance training. My heels click against the hardwood floors in a rhythm that demands attention.
I feel Carter’s and Felix’s gazes on me, watching my every step like hawks. That’s what I wish to attract. To steal the attention of the room, not because I want to, but because I can with confidence.
You want to play at being feminine and commanding? Honey, I've trained in the art of movement since before you bought those curves.
I approach Holmes's desk with purposeful strides, channeling every lesson in poise and etiquette I learned before I became the academy's outcast. Without hesitation, I prop myself on the edge of his desk, then spin around in one fluid motion until I'm firmly planted in his lap.
His hands grab my waist instantly, clearly anticipating the possibility of me falling backward. The touch sends electricity racing through my body, but I'm too focused on my mission to let it distract me.
In one smooth movement, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss that would make a porn star blush.
It's deep, messy, and absolutely filthy.
I pour every ounce of defiance and desire into it, letting my tongue sweep against his in a way that makes him grip my hips tighter. The silk of his blindfold is cool against my skin where it brushes my cheek, providing an interesting contrast to the heat of his mouth.
Victoria's shocked gasp echoes through the room, followed immediately by Felix's appreciative whistle.
"Well, fuck," Carter whines from somewhere behind me. "She needs to kiss me like that."
"Did you get experience in pole dancing?" Felix asks, sounding genuinely curious, though I’m sure he understands I can’t answer him straight away. "Because that move was actually hot, and I might need to request a lap dance if it's included in the package."
"We'll have to ask later," Carter responds, his voice rough. "Because fuck, I want that too."
“I swear you’ve had enough of her today,” Felix sounds like he’s whining.
“Never enough, my dear friend. She’s addicting. You’ll have to request a free trial.”
“Fuck off,” Felix huffs, making Carter laugh in response before they fall silent, seemingly enjoying the madness I’ve ensued.
"What—what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Victoria sputters, her carefully crafted composure finally cracking.
I break the kiss, leaving Holmes breathing hard while I try to catch my own breath. Taking a deep inhale, I attempt to calm the bitter need to keep being a defiant bitch to this man who thought testing me was going to be some form of entertainment.
They want a show? Fine. I've been a form of entertainment for years. This is child’s play.
My fingers trace along Holmes's jaw as I consider my next move. He's still holding my hips, his grip firm enough to leave bruises, and I can feel the tension radiating through his body.
"I'm used to being an entertainer," I say, my voice carrying clearly through the silent room. "In a world that enjoys mocking Omegas left and right, you learn to give people what they expect and well…not expect." My nails scrape lightly against his stubble. "So why don't I show you what it's like to toy around with someone you've never physically met?"
The air in the room grows thick with tension as everyone waits for Holmes' response. His grip on my hips hasn't loosened, but I can feel the slight tremor in his hands that suggests I've gotten under his skin.
Good. Let him feel what it's like to be the one caught off guard for once.
I adjust my position deliberately, making my intentions clear as I turn my head enough over my shoulder to look in Victoria’s direction.
"Isn't this what you're used to?" I ask, my voice dripping with mock innocence. "You're here staking your claim, after all."
I pause, my fingers finding Holmes's tie.
With deliberate slowness, I loosen the expensive silk, sliding it free from his collar. The fabric whispers as I wrap it around my wrist, the material cool against my skin.
My fingers move to his collar next, undoing the top buttons to reveal his neck. I turn back to Victoria, gesturing pointedly at the unmarked skin.
"No claiming marks," I observe. "Interesting."
Victoria's face flushes. "Holmes is a gentleman," she stammers. "He's waiting for my Heat to initiate all of that."
A laugh escapes me, sharp and mocking.
"How boring," I say, turning back to Holmes. "Isn't it, Holmesovich ?" I let his full name roll off my tongue with a hint of Russian inflection, taking the chance to assume his background, though I remember Carter mentioning it.
From somewhere behind me, I hear Felix whisper to Carter.
"Fuck, she's Russian?"
"I had no fucking clue," Carter responds, sounding delighted. "But if she is, even better. Russian Omegas have that bold confidence, and I think anyone who's going to survive Holmes's madness needs to be just as insane."
"I can hear you," I call over my shoulder, before pressing closer to Holmes. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he's fighting to maintain his composure.
"Aren't you going to push me away?" I whisper, letting my lips brush against his ear. "Don't want to give your pretty perfect Omega over there the wrong idea."
I trace my tongue along the side of his neck, feeling him take a sharp breath. His body reacts instantly, muscles tensing beneath me. Fighting my own response to his reaction, I press my lips to his skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that won't fade anytime soon.
Holmes flinches slightly at the sensation, but his hands remain firmly on my hips, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer.
"You—you didn't get his consent to do that!" Victoria sputters, her perfectly maintained composure completely shattered.
"You're right," I agree cheerfully, admiring the darkening mark on Holmes's neck. "So he should probably push me off his lap if he doesn't like it." I tap my fingers against his chest thoughtfully. "Or better yet, use those lovely words of his. Because I'll be damned if I have to guess, but I'm pretty sure he can definitely speak."
The tension in the room ratchets up another notch as everyone waits for Holmes's response. His jaw is clenched tight, the muscles working beneath his stubble, but still, he remains silent.
Your move, Alpha.
The atmosphere feels oppressive, thick with tension and unspoken challenges I’ve invoked.
Oops? I guess.
Victoria’s gaze cuts into me, her eyes burning with annoyance and jealousy as I perch confidently on Holmes’ lap. Felix and Carter linger just inside the doorway, their faces wearing expressions ranging from bemused curiosity to thinly veiled amusement.
Either way, I’m exactly where I want to be, playing games I know this cunt bitch can’t win when I’m in the lead.
I meet Holmes’ steady silence with a soft smirk, knowing he can sense every shift in my breathing, every tremor of my pulse. His grip on my hips tightens slightly, and while his expression doesn’t waver, his body betrays him.
He’s holding me in place—not to push me away, but to keep me exactly where I am.
The bulge in his pants is further pressing against the thin lining between his erection and my dripping pussy.
“Hmmm,” I hum, tilting my head as my fingers begin tracing idle patterns across the fabric of his pristine white shirt. “Looks like I’m not troubling him enough for him to speak up.”
Victoria’s sharp intake of breath is almost comical, and I can feel her outrage radiating across the room.
I don’t even glance her way as I lean forward, brushing my front side provocatively against Holmes. I toy with the top buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one, revealing the taut muscle beneath.
My movements are deliberate, slow enough to make him— and everyone else in the room — wait. When I catch sight of the intricate tattoos etched across his skin, I pause, my fingers stilling for just a fraction of a second.
I tug the fabric back up slightly, covering the markings as if to shield them from Victoria’s prying eyes.
A silent offering of respect.
“I’d love to give you a show,” I murmur, my voice smooth and laced with mock sweetness, “but I respect Victoria’s dignity enough not to stoop that low. Unless,” I pause, leaning in until my lips almost brush Holmes’, “that’s what my Alpha wants from me.”
The ball is in his court now, and I feel his muscles tense beneath me, his breath slow and deliberate.
Before he can respond, Victoria huffs, her scoff breaking the spell.
“Holmes wouldn’t be interested in a skank like you,” she snaps, her tone venomous.
“Oh, really?” I reply, drawing back just enough to meet her gaze. “What a shame.” My lips curl into a knowing smile, and I shift again, my movements deliberately languid as I settle back into Holmes’ lap. “Despite my rebellious reputation, I’m willing to behave...once in a while.”
My eyes flicker back to Holmes, and I tilt my head, devising an unspoken challenge.
“I’m offering you the chance to tell me what you desire, Holmes. You can tell me to get off,” I say, trailing my fingers down his chest, “or maybe give you another kiss.” My voice lowers to a whisper to keep my next words between us. I lean closer, brushing my lips against his ear. “Or give you a nice blowjob to relieve this boner of yours.”
Victoria lets out a horrified gasp, but I feel the only thing she heard was a blowjob since I intentionally emphasized that single word.
“Y-You’re lying!” she exclaims, her voice shrill. “Holmes wouldn’t even get turned on by this nonsense.”
I laugh softly, the sound rich and mocking.
“Beg to differ,” I reply, shifting my hips purposefully. I feel him harden beneath me, and I smirk, glancing toward Felix and Carter. “But maybe foreplay isn’t enough punishment for being such trouble, hmm? What do you think, my Alphas?”
Carter catches on immediately, his smirk widening.
“As punishment,” he drawls, his tone dripping with faux authority, “why doesn’t Abercrombie give Holmes a blowjob as compensation for being an embarrassment among our pack’s company?”
Felix adjusts his glasses, nodding sagely.
“I’ll even record it for blackmail. You know, for future reference.”
Victoria looks utterly stunned, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She takes a moment to gather herself, then snaps.
“Fine! Do it. Punish her. Prove she’s not the Omega Holmes deserves by making her act like the slut she is!”
She thinks she’s winning by going along with exactly what I wanted. Oh, the joys of stupidity.
My heart races, but I don’t let it show.
Instead, I trail my hands down Holmes’ chest, slowly working the buttons of his shirt back into place. I’m not cruel enough to fully expose him to this woman, who seems more of a nuisance than a threat.
It’s a small gesture, one I hope Holmes recognizes, but if he doesn’t, that’s fine. I can be a bitch, but I’m not cruel to reveal the beauty of those inked masterpieces on his chest.
Sliding off his lap, I sink gracefully to my knees, letting my years of pole dancing lessons guide my movements. I rest my hands lightly on Holmes’ legs, my fingertips tracing lazy circles over the expensive fabric of his slacks.
“Such a good Omega I am,” I purr on purpose, the tone sounding enriched with something foreign. I haven’t made such a sound before, let alone entwine it with words, but I go along with it as my tone is meant to drip with sarcasm. Or hidden desire. I don’t fucking know. “Doing exactly what’s expected of me.”
The idea of hearing him praise me does give me a sense of motivation, even though I know I’ll never receive it from him. I secretly keep my fingers crossed that Carter will do it later.
When he praises me, my core goes wild.
I let my fingers drift upward, reaching for his belt buckle.
The room is silent, except for the sound of my breathing and the faint rustle of fabric as I loosen the leather strap. My hands tremble slightly, though I mask it with a playful smile.
“This is insane!” Victoria snaps, her voice breaking the tension. “Holmes, refuse! Stop this punishment nonsense!”
Holmes leans back in his chair, the first movement he’s done since I’ve arrived basically. His body begins to relax, though I can feel the tension radiating from him, proving this is a facade stance.
He reaches down, his hand brushing mine as he finishes unbuckling his belt and slowly unzips his pants. His voice is low and commanding when he speaks.
“Finish what you started.”
My breath catches, but I recover quickly, my lips curling into a slow smile.
Oh, this man likes to play games, huh?
“Good,” I say, letting my fingers trail down the open zipper. “Because my father didn’t raise a weak bitch. I’m not one to cower to a challenge or a punishment.”
Victoria sputters, but I don’t pay her any attention.
All my focus is on Holmes — the way his body reacts to my touch, the subtle shifts in his breathing. I’ve never been one to back down from any fight or opportunity, and I’m not about to start now.
Let this game begin.