Page 171 of Invisible Bars
That was all it took.
Imanio stood, circled behind me, and then slid my chair back just enough for his hands to graze my shoulders. I felt them trail slowly down my arms, his breath brushing my ear.
“I was trying to be a gentleman tonight,” he murmured against my ear, his breath hot. “But you’re making that shit hard as hell.”
“T-then stop trying,” I said—bravely… stupidly.
Then—tic.
“Bite the pillow, Brenda!”
Imanio’s brows lifted, and a slow, devilish grin curved his lips.
“I don’t know who Brenda is, but she might be onto something.”
“I tic when I’m turned on too,” I admitted with a shy laugh. “It’s not always cute. But it’s… me.”
He leaned closer. “Then let me learn all of you. No filters. No apologies.”
A single command came next, low and husky.
“Come with me.”
I stood, legs shaky from the wineandwant.
Imanio led me through the yacht and we past the main lounge to a private room toward the back. It was dim, elegant, draped in black silk and soft shadows, and a low bed sat near the window.
Once the door was closed, Imanio pulled me close and cupped the side of my face like he needed to make sure I was real. When he kissed me, it was like the last time—not rushed.
When his mouth dropped to my neck, then lower, a sound caught in my throat—half gasp, half tremor. My hand jerked slightly, tapping twice against my thigh before my head tipped back on instinct.
“Mmm… shiny mailbox!” I whimpered through the haze.
Imanio paused just long enough to look up with heat in his eyes, then grinned—dark and tipsy, but focused.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “Let all that crazy shit out. I got you… every inch of you.”
There were no sudden movements, no rough tugs; just slow, intentional touches. Imanio’s fingers skimmed my dress with a kind of patience I wasn’t used to—like he was unwrapping something valuable, something rare…me.
He slid fabric away from my skin piece by piece, following every exposed inch with his mouth—hot, wet, purposeful. His stubble scratched softly against me, grounding me. My tics softened, then flared again, that time from anticipation.
I could barely breathe. I’d never had a man look at me like that.
Not like I was broken. Not like I was fragile. But like I was wanted—flaws, tremors, outbursts, and all.
Imanio grinned against my collarbone. “Lay down, baby.”
I obeyed.
Imanio loomed over me. His eyes searched mine, slow and sharp—like he was etching me into memory, hunting for the slightest crack of hesitation.
“You sure about this?” he asked. “There’s no going back after this. You know that, right?”
It wasn’t a question; it was a warning.
I nodded, throat dry, but my voice pushed through anyway.
“I… I trust you.”
