20. "Don't pretend you don't know what you're doing."
I didn't need to touch him to drive him mad.
All I had to do was exist...
Dinner had been quiet. Not awkward, just charged. Like static clinging to the air every time our eyes met. He'd barely said a word. His jaw had stayed tight. His grip on the silverware was so stiff I half-expected the knife to snap in half.
The dinner had started with all four of us sitting together. Zayden, me and his parents. Until his father got a call from a friend with a last minute plan and he decided to take his wife along.
Leaving me and Zayden alone at the dining table, a thick and heavy tension hanging between us. Something unspoken just waiting to be said.
He didn't finish his meal after his parents left. Just tolerated breathing the same air as me for about ten minutes, and then walked right out, leaving me all by myself.
He thought he was in control.
I'd show him control.
I walked into the living room barefoot, wearing an oversized black tee that hung just long enough to hide the tiny shorts underneath. The collar had slipped down one shoulder, exposing bare skin, and I made no effort to fix it.
Zayden sat on the far end of the couch with a glass of whiskey, sleeves rolled up, shirt slightly wrinkled.
I didn't look at him right away. I walked past him casually and bent over the coffee table to grab the book lying there that I had no intention of reading. Just slow enough, just far enough.
He saw.
I knew he saw.
I could feel the weight of his gaze on my hips.
"Stop that." His voice came out gruff and commanding.
I turned around, blinking innocently. "What?"
"Whatever that is." He muttered, eyes darkening as they swept down and then back up.
"Bending over?" I asked, flopping down beside him on the couch. "Sorry, next time I'll do it with a little more warning."
His jaw ticked. "Don't start."
I crossed my legs, the motion deliberate. "Start what?"
"You know exactly what."
"Mm, you look tense." I leaned in, letting my arm graze his. "Maybe you need to relax."
His nostrils flared, but he didn't move. Didn't back away. "You think this is a game?"
I tilted my head, lips close to his ear. "What do you mean?"
He turned his head to face me, our mouths inches apart.
"Careful, Sinclair," he murmured, voice low and warning, his eyes reflecting the internal battle brewing within him. "You're playing with fire."
I smiled, brushing invisible lint off his chest. "I like the heat."
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist firmly. "Say what you want, but don't pretend you don't know what you're doing."
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing." I whispered, dragging my hand slowly down his chest after removing it from his hold, watching the way his breath caught. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and hungry.
I could feel the restraint radiating off of him. He was this close to cracking.
I leaned in a little more, fingers brushing his belt casually, as if it were an accident. My lips almost grazed his jaw.
And then, just as his hands twitched toward me like he was done holding himself back...
I pulled away.
Abruptly.
"I'm going to bed." I announced, standing and smoothing down my shirt like nothing happened.
It was barely even nine. I had no plans of going to bed so early.
His eyes followed me, unreadable. Tense. Like a predator just denied the kill.
"Sleep tight, Zayden." I added with a playful smirk.
And then I turned and walked away, feeling his gaze burn a hole through my back the entire way down the hall.
I didn't need to see him to know he was cursing me in his head.
Or imagining what would have happened had I not stopped.
———
She walked in like she owned the damn place, as always, but she did own the room the second she stepped into it.
Barefoot. That oversized black tee falling off her shoulder like it was a paid actor. Hair a little messy, skin glowing. Her entire look was casual yet dangerously sexy all at once.
I shouldn't have looked.
But I did.
Of course I did.
I always did even if I tried so hard not to.
She walked past me like I wasn't even there, like I didn't exist, and then bent over the coffee table in front of me, slow and deliberate enough to make it a war crime.
A glimpse of silk under the hem of that damn shirt. A tease. Just enough.
I didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
Because for a moment, I completely forgot how to.
Fuck.
She had to stop before I wound up at a mental asylum.
She straightened, turned around with that smug little sparkle in her eyes, face innocent as if she hadn't just almost flashed me and made all my blood run south. She sat down next to me, crossing her legs like she wasn't trying to get me worked up.
If she thought I didn't know she was doing all of that on purpose, she was wrong.
"Stop that." I ordered before I could stop myself.
She tilted her head, looking at me like she was the most innocent girl on the planet. "What?"
That voice. That mouth. That confidence disguised behind feigned innocence.
"Whatever that is." I muttered, gesturing vaguely because if I actually described it, I'd lose whatever grip I had left.
"Bending over?" She said, wide-eyed. "Sorry, next time I'll do it with a little more warning."
I stared at her. She was impossible.
My jaw ticked. "Don't start."
"Start what?"
"You know exactly what."
She leaned in, her bare shoulder brushing my arm. It felt like a spark against my skin.
"Mm, you look tense," she whispered, leaning in even more. "Maybe you need to relax."
My nostrils flared as I forced myself to stay composed. "You think this is a game?"
The truth was that I was stiff. So damn stiff down there.
Her lips neared my ear, and I held my breath as her voice dropped. "What do you mean?"
I turned to look at her, realising our mouths were mere inches away.
It took everything in me not to give in to the temptation. The temptation to wipe that smirk off her face and make her regret every move she had pulled on me.
"Careful, Sinclair," I warned. "You're playing with fire."
She smiled, running a finger along my chest as if she was trying to remove something. Something that clearly wasn't there. "I like the heat."
My self-control was a ticking bomb and she had her fingers on the detonation button. I grabbed her wrist—not hard, just enough to stop her from pushing further.
"Say what you want," I said, my voice low, "but don't pretend you don't know what you're doing."
She looked me dead in the eyes. Calm. Smiling. Completely in control.
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing." She whispered, her voice sultry and smooth.
Of course she did.
Her fingers slid down my chest like a whisper. Like a dare. My breath caught. My body reacted faster than I could think.
Then her hand drifted lower—just hovering—and I felt it. The crack in my restraint.
Every part of me said do it. Just take her. Grab her by the waist and shut her up with my mouth. Let her see what she was provoking.
But I didn't.
I never got the chance.
Because just as my control almost snapped, and I reached for her...
She pulled away.
Fast and abrupt.
Like a fucking tease.
"I'm going to bed." She declared, standing and smoothing her shirt like nothing happened.
She looked down at me with that smug, infuriating smirk that said she knew exactly what she had done to me.
"Sleep tight, Zayden." A playful smirk played at her lips.
And then she walked off.
Leaving me sitting there, jaw tight, fists clenched, pulse hammering in places I didn't want to admit.
I stared at the space she'd just vacated. My brain short-circuited somewhere between fuck and why the hell didn't I stop her.
She was playing with me.
Dangerously.
And it was becoming hard for me to maintain my composure.
Because somehow, despite every wall I'd built, despite every rule I had, every line I swore I wouldn't cross...
Aurelia Sinclair had barged into my life like a hurricane, swearing to tear all my walls and patience down.
And I realised she wasn't done torturing me yet.
In addition to the fact that I needed a cold shower.