Page 126 of The Contract

She wavers just for a second, and I stop existing.

If she tells me no, returns to her room, that has to be it. I have to let her walk away.

Not just tonight. But at the end of this contract.

But if she doesn’t. If she takes a step toward me?—

Then she does.

She walks toward me slowly, carefully, as if afraid that one wrong step will shatter the fragile restraint between us.

But she never looks away. And neither do I.

Whatever this is, wherever it’s going—I’m already too far gone to stop it.

The soft glow of the city casts light over her, illuminating the smooth planes of her skin, the dark waves of her still-damp hair spilling over her shoulders. The tie of her robe loosens with each step, slipping free, the silk parting effortlessly.

The nightgown underneath is black, delicate, a second skin that barely covers her. Lace teases across her chest, the thin straps leaving her shoulders bare, her nipples taut against the fabric. A slit runs up her thigh, exposing the smooth, toned length of her leg as she closes the distance between us.

She stops beside the bench, breathing unevenly, a flush warming her cheeks.

She wants this.

She just doesn’t want to be the one to break the rules because I also had stipulations in my contract request. No intimacy.

Okay, little Trouble.

We’ll break these rules together.

Slowly, I widen my legs, making space for her between them. My hand trails up her bare thigh, feeling the slight tremor beneath my touch, the tension in her stance. Then, with a firm but gentle pull, I guide her to stand directly in front of me.

She sets the plate, the fork on the piano, and it’s like a bell, marking the shift in the moments between us.

Her scent surrounds me—faint traces of vanilla, her lotion, the floral hint of her shampoo. I press my forehead to her stomach, breathing her in, savoring the warmth of her body so close to mine.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t touch me.

But she doesn’t pull away either.

My lips brush against the smooth plane of her stomach, just above her navel, then move closer to her hip.

A barely-there sigh escapes her lips, so quiet I almost miss it.

I pull back slightly, reaching for the plate beside me, taking the fork and spearing a bite of the dark chocolate cheesecake. The moment the rich, velvety texture hits my tongue, I groan low in my throat, closing my eyes for a brief second.

It’s fucking perfect.

Decadent. Sinful. The kind of dessert that lingers, that demands to be savored.

When I open my eyes again, she’s watching me, her lips parted, her breathing uneven.

A shiver runs through her, and I know it’s not from the cold.

I set the fork down and drag my finger slowly along the side of the cheesecake, gathering a thick smear of chocolate and caramel on the tip.

I stand. My other hand moves higher on her thigh, taking the hem of her nightgown with it, the soft silk rising under my touch.

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