"You don't want me to sleep with you, right?" Zyren asked, his voice low and filled with dark amusement, even as Aira stared directly at him. Her eyes locked with his, defiant despite the heat blooming within her, and she shook her head—firm, resolute.
But her conviction wavered as she felt his fingers continue to caress her thighs with deliberate slowness. Each stroke was like fire against her skin, maddening in a way that made her want to shove him off. Her breath caught in her throat, torn between resistance and temptation.
He leaned closer, his gaze lazily tracing her expression. "Lie down," he told her, calm as ever.
But he might as well have been talking to a ghost. Aira sat stiffly, her back straight and her eyes burning with disbelief. Her face twisted with tension as she opened her mouth to speak.
"I'm not—" she started, but her words evaporated.
