26. "Not when your body betrays you every time I get this close."
The house was silent.
A kind of silence that felt suspended in tension, as if it was waiting for something to shatter it.
I'd spent the whole day thinking about the way Zayden had touched me at dinner last night. So casually. So arrogantly. His hand on my thigh like he owned it. Like I was just something to play with.
And the worst part?
I let him.
Because it felt good. Because I wanted to see how far he'd go. Because I wanted to see if I could make him lose control again.
But worst of all, because it felt so damn conflicting to push him away.
Anyhow, I wasn't one to back down or lay defeated.
Now it was my turn. And I would do anything just to have the last word. Every single time.
I heard the front door unlock just past eleven.
Keys dropped. Footsteps steady and unhurried, the sound of Zayden returning from wherever the hell he'd decided to disappear to, tonight.
Probably some high-end corporate event or an investors' party, based on the muted sound of his expensive shoes and the soft clink of what I assumed was his keys being tossed onto the entryway table.
I slipped out of my room, barefoot and in silk. A black satin robe hugged my body, cinched at the waist, just barely concealing the matching lace lingerie underneath.
My heart pounded like a traitor, but my face stayed calm. Composed. Seductive.
He turned the corner just as I descended the stairs, jacket slung over his shoulder, shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves pushed up. His hair was tousled, his expression unreadable, but when he saw me?
His steps slowed, ultimately coming to an abrupt halt.
His eyes dropped, scanning me from head to toe, lingering just a second too long.
I didn't speak.
Neither did he.
I brushed past him deliberately, heading into the kitchen like it was a completely normal thing to be dressed like sin at nearly midnight. I could feel his eyes on me. Burning into me.
Good.
I opened the fridge, bent slightly more than necessary to grab the juice box. His footsteps echoed behind me as he entered the kitchen.
I heard his breath falter.
"Could you be more obvious?" His voice cut the silence, a tinge of irritation coating it. But I knew it was much more than that. It was his concealed desire mixed with the exasperation that he could just not have me.
I straightened, poured the juice into a glass slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You never do," he deadpanned, stepping closer but keeping ample distance between us. "You're playing games again."
I turned around, sipping the juice slowly, then leaned against the counter and met his eyes. "So are you."
His gaze darkened. "Careful, Sinclair."
"You first."
A beat of silence stretched between us. Then he shook his head and moved to brush past me.
No.
Not yet.
I reached out and grabbed his wrist. His brows shot up in surprise, but he didn't pull away.
"You really think you're the only one who gets to play dirty, Ashford?" I murmured, taking a step closer. My hand slid up his chest. "You're not the only one who knows how to get under someone's skin."
His throat bobbed.
But he still didn't touch me.
So I took the lead instead.
My fingers danced down his chest, slow and teasing, until they slipped between the second and third button of his shirt. I undid it. Then another. Then another... each time watching his eyes for the smallest reaction.
His jaw was clenched tightly. Hands fisted at his sides. Body so still, so tense, it made me feel powerful.
I leaned in, brushing my lips against the shell of his ear. "You want me to stop, Zayden?"
His breath hitched. Just barely. But I felt it.
He didn't answer.
So I moved again. My lips grazed the side of his throat, a whisper of touch, innocent enough to drive him insane.
"You can't keep pretending you're in control," I whispered. "Not when your body betrays you every time I get this close."
He was speechless.
And rendered immobile.
So I stepped back slowly, hand trailing down his torso, then turned away with a smile playing on my lips.
"Goodnight, Zayden."
Then I left.
I didn't have to look back to know he was still standing there, frozen in place, jaw tight, hands clenched, fighting everything I'd just stirred up inside him.
Let him burn.
Just like he'd made me burn.
———
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't fucking think.
The kitchen felt smaller without her in it. Too quiet. Like the walls had leaned in just to taunt me, to suffocate me further in the desire that kept pulling me in like quicksand.
Her perfume lingered in the air the way it always did, long after she left. That fucking, annoying sweet scent that I couldn't get out of my system.
What was worse than her being dressed in that... that... was the fact that she had touched me like that, put those soft lips over my neck like I was hers, and then walked away.
On her terms.
My jaw was still tight, aching at that point, when I finally made a move to leave.
The next morning, when I descended to the kitchen, I found Aurelia sitting at the kitchen island, snacking on biscuits and scrolling through her phone like she hadn't lit a fuse and walked away from the explosion the night before.
"Good morning." She chirped with that annoying smugness.
I pressed buttons on the coffee machine, sucking in a breath. "Sleep well?"
"Very." She grinned, eyes shining with mischief as if she were able to tell that I hadn't slept a wink after her little stunt.
"Good. You'll need the energy." I responded.
She arched a brow, tilting her head to the side. "Really? What for?"
"I have to grab lunch with a client. You're coming with me." I replied.
Her brow only lifted further. "You normally don't like it when I join you for meetings."
"You can join today." I replied curtly, taking a sip of my black coffee.
"Why?" She smiled sarcastically.
"Because I said so." I said firmly.
She snickered softly before hopping down from her chair and walking up to me. Tilting her head back, she gazed into my eyes with that confident gaze of hers.
"No."
And then she walked out.