Heated

He came back into the room, just steps ahead of a waiter in a trim, black uniform who stumbled a bit before making a surprised little noise, then continuing on. I’m sure I made quite the picture, naked on the couch, my face turned toward the entrance, my hands on the cushions and my breasts exposed.

I didn’t slouch, though I wanted to. I had too much pride. But neither did I look at the waiter. For the first time since I’d graduated from the academy, I purposefully didn’t look at a face. Instead, my attention was entirely on Tyler—and his was entirely on me. I saw heat in his face. Heat and passion and possessiveness.

Raw desire burned in his eyes, and in that singular moment, I knew that I held the power. That I’d turned him on, wound him up. Not because I was naked and on display, but because I was naked and on display because he wanted me to be.

And that desire—that primal, sensual hunger—cut through me as well. I felt warm, alive with a feminine power. I wanted to be touched. To be claimed by the one man who had brought me to this point, to this sharp apex of desire.

Tyler.

As if he could hear my thoughts, the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, like a subtle promise of things to come.

Blood pounded in my ears and I barely breathed as the waiter hurriedly parked the cart and converted it to a small table. I heard the rattle of dishes, and then the distinct pop of a champagne cork.

Then Tyler was signing the check, and the waiter was gone, moving like a streak toward the door. The moment I heard the click, I gulped in air, then watched as Tyler’s coolly composed expression softened a bit. “You see? There’s a thrill in being naughty—no, don’t say anything. I can see the truth on your face. And you gave him a bit of a thrill, too, I think. If nothing else, he has a story he’ll be telling his buddies into his old age.”

“I hope you tipped him well,” I said, surprised I could form words, much less conjure sarcasm.

“I think you were the best tip. But yes. I upped the standard gratuity considerably.”

I started to stand, but he gestured for me to stay seated, and I was glad that he did. As juiced as I was, I couldn’t be certain that my legs would support me.

“You did well.” He’d moved to the cart and now he took a bottle of champagne from its bucket. He poured a glass, then brought it and a small plate toward me. There was a coffee table directly in front of me, and he used his foot to push it to one side, then placed the drink and the plate on it. The plate, I saw, held a selection of chocolate truffles.

I glanced up at him, and he met my questioning look with a smile. “Time for your reward. Tell me, Sloane, what do you want?”

You. Oh, god, only you. The words seemed to press against my lips, begging for release. But I bit them back, perhaps foolishly wanting to keep some piece of me hidden despite sitting naked before him.

Slowly, purposefully, I glanced at the coffee table. “I’m very fond of chocolate.”

“Is that so?” He plucked up a round truffle, gleaming with a shell of dark chocolate and topped with a tiny star of white icing. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He knelt in front of me, one hand resting on my knee as he leaned forward and trailed the truffle gently over my lower lip.

“Open for me,” he said, and as I slowly opened my mouth, he gently spread my legs. Cool air swept between my thighs, teasing my overheated skin and making me even more aware of how wet I already was.

I whimpered, but the sound was muffled by the candy. “That’s a girl,” he said, as he eased the truffle into my mouth. “Now bite down.” I did, then moaned in surprise and pleasure as sweet cherry juice eased over my tongue, a stray bit catching at the corner of my mouth.

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