“You really shouldn’t.”
“Probably not. But I did anyway.”
She just looks at me, like she’s trying to convince herself this means nothing.
And I let her, because if she realized how much it actually means, I’m not sure either of us could pretend anymore.
Mya runs her fingers lightly over the sleeve of the record, as if afraid it might disappear.
“Thank you,” she whispers, staring at it like it’s the most precious thing she owns, like the designer dress she’s wearing and the diamonds at her throat don’t even register.
“My dad would freak if he saw this.” A tiny smile tugs at her lips. “He’s probably dancing in his grave right now.”
Something tender twists in my chest. “I hope it makes you feel closer to him when you listen to it,” I murmur.
She looks up again, and for a moment, the world goes quiet.
I shrug off my tux jacket, draping it over the armchair. Then I tug loose the bow tie at my throat, the silk slipping through my fingers before I undo the top buttons of my collar. When I turn back, she’s still sitting there, unsure what to do next. I reach out and gently take the vinyl from her hands, setting it on the nightstand beside the bed.
“Come here,” I say quietly.
When Mya hesitates, I lift her by the hand until she’s standing in front of me, and I turn her around.
My fingers find the first button at the back of her dress. The silence between us grows heavier with each one that slips free. Only the sound of fabric and unsteady breathing fills the room.
I shouldn’t want her this fiercely. As much as I keep telling myself that I’m closed off to feelings, every inch of her tests my control.
When the last button loosens, the gown slips off her shoulders and slides soundlessly to the floor. Her arms twitch, as if she’s unsure whether to cover herself or let me look.
“Mya,” I whisper. It’s half prayer, half warning.
She turns slowly to face me, her head tilting up, breaths shallow. I let my hands linger at her waist, fighting the urge to pull her closer.
“You should know, I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman right now.”
Her lips curve. “Then you’re doing a terrible job.”
I laugh. “You’re such a brat, you know?” I step closer and let my hands roam down her body, past the curves of her breasts, the soft skin on her stomach.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
When I reach her waist, I guide her gently back onto the bed, drawing her toward the edge of the mattress, and part her legs. Mya lets out a breath that trembles through the quiet.
“Mya, tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”
I lower myself to my knees before her, hands braced on either side of her thighs. And I wait.
“I want this, don’t stop,” she breathes out and relief floods me as I let out a rough exhale.
For a moment, I admire what’s mine, what I can’t seem to get enough of. The sight of her like this, flushed and waiting, makes my cock stand at attention. Neither of us mentions that we shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s all pretend, that it’ll hurt more when it’s over. Because in this moment, it’sreal.
I slip my hand under her thong, finding her wet heat. Mya arches her back and lets out a small moan, squirming beneath my touch. She’s so warm and ready for me, and I can’t help the smugness I feel at being the one to make her writhe for me.
“Ready to beg already, Kitten?”
Her response is nothing more than a shiver.
The pad of my thumb circles her clit and she lets out a big exhale.