Page 48 of Desperate Actions

“The dress. Take it off while I watch.”

Her breath hitches, and I see it.

The flash of nerves, the thrill, the way her pulse kicks up beneath the delicate skin of her throat.

She licks her lips, a subtle movement that makes me want to drag her to the bed and ruin her right now.

But I wait.

I let her do this on her terms.

Aella steps out of her heels first, toeing them off like she’s stalling.

I arch a brow.

“Something wrong?”

She swallows, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

“I—I’ve never undressed in front of a man before,” she confesses.

My gut tightens, my muscles tensing with something raw and primal.

I step forward, reach out, brush my knuckles along the side of her cheek.

“I’m your husband, Aella.”

I watch her reaction, let it settle deep in her bones.

“You can undress in front of me.”

She nods, but I see the shake in her hands, the hesitation in the way she lifts them toward the hidden zipper beneath her left arm.

The sound.

A slow, deliberate unzipping. It is fucking loud in this almost too quiet room. Like this moment is holy or something.

Maybe it is.

I’m zeroed in, every muscle wired, focused entirely on her as she peels the fabric apart.

Fuck. Me.

A glimpse of pale skin.

The curve of her waist.

The slow, agonizing reveal of a body that was made to be worshipped.

And Aella’s no coward.

She steels herself, meets my gaze head-on, and with a single, graceful motion, she pushes the damn thing all the way off.

And holy fucking hell.

She stands before me, wrapped in a scrap of silk that should be illegal, her body perfection and temptation incarnate.

My hands clench into fists at my sides, every cell in my body screaming to touch, taste, claim.

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