Page 7 of Blackwell Manor: A Lesson in Submission

Lillian reached across the table—slow, deliberate—and took Isabella’s hand.

And this time?

Isabella didn’t pull away.

Didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

Because Elias was watching, his gaze searing into her skin, his body so still, so measured, so deadly calm that it made her pulse between her thighs.

And Lillian knew it.

She stroked her thumb along Isabella’s palm, tracing slow, teasing circles that sent a shiver rolling down her spine.

“Do you like being touched, Isabella?”

The words landed low in her stomach, hot, consuming, aching.

She should have said no.

She should have ended this game.

But her body?

Her body didn’t want to end it.

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Elias Makes His Move

A clink of glass shattered the moment.

Elias set his empty wine glass down with deliberate care, his jaw tight, his fingers curling into a fist on the table.

Lillian smiled, but there was something sharp, wicked, victorious in it.

“Oh, Elias,” she purred, tilting her head. “I do believe our guest is enjoying herself.”

Elias’s eyes burned into Isabella.

“Is that true?” His voice was low, deep, rough like a command in the dark.

Isabella’s breath hitched.

She knew she had a choice.

She could deny it.

She could run.

Or she could surrender.

And when Lillian’s fingers trailed up her wrist, up to the delicate skin of her forearm, Isabella didn’t move away.

And Elias saw it.

He saw it. He felt it. He knew.

His lips curved, slow and dark. A predator watching his prey come willingly.

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