His voice was cold.
Not just calm. Not just controlled. Cold in that sharp, precise way that slid under my skin and stayed there. And yet, somehow, that same cold tone made my knees buckle. My legs trembled like they had forgotten their only job was to keep me upright. It didn't even make sense. A voice shouldn't have that kind of power. But his did.
It wasn't just any voice. It was his.
There was something about the way he spoke and it was very low, steady, like he was almost bored that made my stomach twist and my body react before my mind could catch up. I could probably hear a hundred other men talk, and nothing would happen. But one word from him? My pulse would spike like I'd just run a marathon. Honestly, unfair.
I moved toward him on all fours.
