25. "If you're going to tease someone to the edge of madness."
The entire mansion was too quiet.
The kind of quiet that had weight. Thickness. And an irritating unbearableness.
I stood by the marble island in the kitchen, lazily stirring my coffee, pretending not to hear those footsteps echo behind me. Footsteps that belonged to him. The sound of expensive shoes on hardwood floors.
Zayden didn't say anything. Not a single word.
And neither did I.
I was massively pissed at the events of last night.
He walked right past me to the fridge, opened it, pulled out a bottle of water and poured himself a glass.
Then his shoulder brushed mine as he reached into the cabinet above me. Deliberate. Precise. Like a knife against skin.
Still nothing.
Not a glance. Not a sarcastic remark. Not even a smug smirk to remind me of how I practically melted in my seat last night because of the things he did under the table.
Fine.
As if I wanted to talk to him.
I sipped my coffee, leaning back against the counter, my robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. His eyes flicked to it.
For a second.
Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen like I was the ghost haunting his house.
I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath. "Coward."
He may have won last night, but this wasn't over.
———
It was nearly midnight when I heard the door.
The unmistakable click of the front lock, the sound of him throwing his keys on the console table in the lobby.
He was home.
I sat on the living room couch, one leg tucked under me, the TV playing quietly in the background, though I wasn't watching it. I was dressed in one of my silk slip dresses—black, nearly sheer under the wrong lighting, barely grazing mid-thigh. It clung to my curves like a second skin.
I wasn't waiting for him.
I just happened to be there.
Zayden walked in, his hair slightly disheveled, tie missing, the top two buttons of his shirt undone.
God, he looked edible.
He froze when he saw me.
His eyes dipped. Slowly. Then rose back up to meet mine. His face was unreadable, but his body said everything.
I looked back at him with a lazy smile. "Long day, Mr. Ashford?"
He didn't answer. Just shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, his gaze locked on mine like he was trying to figure out what I was up to.
Which was fair.
I wasn't sure myself.
I stood and sauntered toward him, my steps slow and intentional. Every shift of silk over skin sent a new bolt of courage through me.
His jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
"I made tea," I said softly, brushing past him, letting my bare shoulder graze his chest as I reached for a cup. "Would you like some?"
"I don't want tea." His voice was tight and gruff.
I smirked. "Didn't think you did."
I handed him the cup anyway, then turned around and started walking back toward the hallway. The cup never made it to his lips. I knew that.
I reached the staircase and paused.
Counted to three.
And then I heard it. His footsteps following me.
I didn't go to my room.
I went to his.
His door was already ajar.
Like an invitation.
I stepped inside slowly, the silk of my dress whispering with every movement. His room smelled like him—clean linen and dark spice. Expensive and intoxicating.
I stood near the window, letting the moonlight kiss my skin.
He entered behind me, but didn't say a word. Just watched. Eyes dark and hooded. Calculating. Contemplating.
I turned slowly, letting my hair fall over one shoulder. "You look tired."
"I am." He said quietly, eyes devouring me now. No pretense. No poker face.
I stepped toward him.
One.
Two.
Three steps.
Close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off me. Close enough to smell the faint perfume I wore just for this moment. Spicy, dark and seductive.
I placed a single hand on his chest.
"You know, Ashford," I murmured, trailing my fingers down to the waistband of his slacks, "if you're going to tease someone to the edge of madness..." My nails scraped lightly against his shirt, just above his belt.
"...you should be prepared for what happens when she decides to tease back."
His eyes darkened, breath hitching at my movements. "Is that what this is? A contest?"
"Consider it even." I whispered, brushing my lips against his jawline but never kissing him.
Just letting my breath linger.
Letting the ache spread.
He grabbed my wrist gently but firmly. "You really need to stop, Aurelia."
I tilted my head. "What if I don't want to?"
Our eyes locked, tension coiled so tight I thought something might snap.
But I didn't move.
Didn't kiss him.
Didn't let him have the satisfaction of winning again.
I slowly slid my hand out of his grip, turned around, and walked to the door with the confidence of a queen who knew exactly the war she was waging.
Before I left, I glanced over my shoulder.
His chest was rising and falling hard. His fists clenched. His eyes wild with all the pent up desire and frustration.
I smiled mockingly. "Goodnight, Zayden."
Then I walked out, shutting the door behind me with a little intended force.
Let him burn again. Endlessly.
Because if Zayden Ashford wanted me, he'd have to stop pretending like I was nothing to him.
I stood there for a full minute after the door shut.
Just... staring.
Breathing. Barely.
Trying to talk myself off the damn ledge.
That woman was going to ruin me.
I ran a hand through my hair and paced the room once, twice, then leaned back against the door. The scent of her perfume still lingered in the air like smoke after a fire—sweet, haunting, and laced with danger.
She came into my room like it was a territory she owned, wearing next to nothing, touched me like she owned the rights to my body, whispered in that voice that made my spine lock up... and then walked away.
Just like that.
No kiss. No release. Not even the goddamn satisfaction of seeing her flustered.
She left me stranded in my own room, wrapped up in an intense and painful aura of desire and need, and I hated it.
I hated how much I wanted her.
How much I thought about her.
How every time I tried to regain control, she snatched it back like it was a game she knew she was winning.
And worst of all?
I let her.
Because even now, with my jaw clenched and my palms itching and the front of my slacks betraying every lie I told myself about not wanting her, I still couldn't shake the image of her.
Bare shoulders.
Soft skin.
The way her lips hovered against my jaw and left everything in me wrecked.
She was dangerous.
Not because she was playing some game.
But because I was tempted to play along. To see how far this would go without even knowing the rules.
I didn't sleep.
How could I?
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
Felt her.
Heard that voice echoing in my head like a damn curse.
I sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together, trying to fight the turmoil of emotions and desperation within me.
I couldn't get her out of my mind.
Not when I wanted to walk into her room and drag her back into mine just to finish what she started.
It was past 3 a.m. when I finally stood.
Made it halfway down the hall before I stopped myself.
I stared at her door.
Knuckles tight. Breathing heavier than it should've been.
One knock. That's all it would take.
She would open.
I would kiss her senseless the way my body kept screaming at me to. Show her who was in control. Give her a taste of just how dangerous this could be.
But I didn't knock.
Instead, I turned and walked back to my room, slamming the door behind me.
Because if I touched her tonight, I wouldn't stop.
And as much as I hated losing control, I hated how close she was to making me need it.