Page 127 of The Contract

She doesn’t stop me.

“Tell me, Elena,” I murmur, my voice rough, thick with need. I hold my finger just shy of her lips, tracing the sticky sweetness across them. “Is eating dessert against the rules?”

Her breath hitches.

I press my finger gently to her lips, the warmth of her mouth sending a sharp jolt straight through me.

She hesitates, and I see the war in her eyes. But I wait. The next beat of my heart is tied to what she does next.

I see the second her resolve breaks. Her shoulders drop, and she exhales the tension she’s been retaining all week.

The moment her tongue flicks out, tasting the chocolate, I nearly break.

She closes her lips around my finger with a moan, sucking gently, licking until every trace of dessert is gone.

I exhale sharply, my jaw clenching, my cock throbbing with need.

She knows exactly what the fuck this is doing to me. But I can’t break all the way.

My little troublemaker needs to throw out these rules with me.

When she finally releases my finger, her gaze lifts to meet mine, something unreadable swirling in those hazel depths.

A silent question.

A silent dare.

And I’m more than fucking willing to see how much longer she will keep holding back—lying to herself, to me about how much she wants this. Wants us.

Her breath is uneven, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matches mine. She’s waiting. Wanting. But she still won’t break.

Not yet.

So I’ll keep inching forward. Keep teasing. Keep testing exactly how long she can lie to herself before she gives in.

My fingers skim the edges of her robe, pushing the soft silk past her shoulders. She doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t even hesitate. The fabric slides down, pooling at her feet in a whisper of luxury, leaving her bare except for the thin slip of black lace and silk that barely covers her.

I lean in, my breath fanning over the delicate skin of her neck. She tilts her head, offering it to me without a second thought.

I don’t kiss her. But I’m fucking dying to.

My lips hover, just shy of contact, dragging slowly down the elegant curve of her throat to her shoulder.

She exhales sharply, her body swaying toward mine, her hands bracing against my abdomen.

I don’t give in.

Instead, my fingers find one of the thin straps of her nightgown, toying with it, letting it slip off her shoulder in a slow, torturous reveal.

Her skin is warm beneath my touch—soft, smooth.

I move to the other side, repeating the action, my lips grazing her neck, the top of her shoulder, a featherlight touch that makes her shiver.

I slip the second strap down, watching as the silk nightgown slides over the curve of her breasts, catching only in the crook of her elbows, leaving her half-exposed, bared to me.

I inhale sharply.

“Fuck.”

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