His eyes met hers. Held. Dark. Hungry. Unblinking. Something passed between them—raw, electric lust—that she couldn't name but felt in her bones, in her tightening nipples, in the slow, pulsing wetness between her legs.
"I'm not a boy anymore, Ms. Chen."
The words detonated in the space between them—low, rough, laced with dark promise.
Her hand froze on his. Her breath stopped. Her entire world narrowed to six words and the way he was looking at her—like a man looking at a woman he intended to claim, not like her friend's son, not like anything safe or appropriate.
And God help her, something in her responded—her pussy clenched harder, a fresh rush of wetness flooding her panties, her clit throbbing in desperate rhythm with her heartbeat. Her nipples peaked painfully against her top, aching for touch, for his mouth, for anything.
She jerked her hand back like his skin had burned her. But her palm still tingled. Still remembered. Still craved.
