Page 90 of Their Arrangement
The sheets were cold. They smelled like him. I lay on my back, hands by my sides, legs together, trembling.
“Open.”
My breath hitched.
He didn’t clarify.
Didn’t need to.
I spread my thighs.
The air hit me like a confession.
I closed my eyes.
And waited.
He stepped closer. I could feel it—like heat rolling across skin that wasn’t ready to be touched.
Then I felt it.
Not his hands.
His breath.
Hot.
Between my thighs.
Hovering.
Not a kiss. Not a touch.
A presence.
He knelt.
Wolfe Lawlor—king of ice and ruin—on his knees, between mine.
His eyes burned up the length of me, slow and deliberate, like he was mapping out a territory he already owned butwanted to rediscover with the reverence of a ritual. Like he was deciding which part of me he’d ruin first if he let himself give in.
I opened wider.
Because I didn’t know how to ask.
Because begging would have shattered the last of my pride, and I was still clinging to it like skin I hadn’t molted yet.
His breath touched me.
One exhale.
I gasped.
It wasn’t air.
It waspermission.
His mouth hovered so close I could feel the drag of heat against slick, swollen skin. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Justexistedthere.
