Page 66 of Twisted Devotion

I head straight to our bedroom. It’s empty.

I shower, taking my time, letting the warm water glide over my skin, washing away the tension in my body even as my mind sharpens with purpose.

When I slip into the lingerie, it feels likenothing. The deep blue stands out against my pale complexion, the sheer fabric revealing just enough. In the light, the outline of my body is unmistakable.

I check my reflection. Soft waves frame my face, my lips are full and glossy.

I look like a woman on a mission.

Because I am.

I slip a bathrobe over my body and step out of the room. A guard informs me that Nicolas is in his home office.

Perfect.

The door is open when I reach it. Nicolas sits behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loose around his neck. He looks like he’s been working for hours. A glass of whiskey sits untouched beside him, papers scattered across the surface.

His pen stills the moment he sees me.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of something in his expression—then it’s gone.

I step inside slowly, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. Nicolas watches my every move, his gaze dark and unreadable.

I stop in front of him, placing my hands on his shoulders before lowering myself into his lap.

For a moment, he remains still.

Then his hands move, sliding over my waist, his fingers pressing into my skin. His grip is firm.Possessive.

I tilt my head, letting my lips graze his jaw. “Don’t you think you work too much?”

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes.

“I think you should take some time to-”

He grabs my hair and pulls me down into a kiss.

It’s deep.Hungry. Like he wants to devour me.

I let myself melt into it.

But something isoff.

His other hand stays on my waist—still, unmoving. No bruising grip, no desperate pull. Justrestingthere while his lips consume mine with impossible fire, making me breathless.

He’s never hidden his attraction to me before. So why isn’t he doingmorenow?

Despite the thought, I don’t stop. I kiss him back, losing myself in how our tongues move together, messy and urgent.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulls away.

I blink, gasping for air.

His jaw is tight. His fingers flex against my waist—then, without a word, he lifts me—off his lap and sets me back on my feet.

“I have work to do,” he says.

I search his face, trying to understand. His eyes are dark and unreadable. His hands still burn where they touched me.

---