He said nothing. Just watched, blue eyes electric. He tilted my chin up with two fingers, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, his expression unreadable except for a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. A dare. Or hunger on a short leash.
My knees would have buckled if he weren’t holding me up.
Then he grazed my earlobe with his lips, his breath scalding against my skin.
“Underwear.”
My pulse banged in my neck, and I pushed out a laugh that sounded like air escaping a balloon. “You’ll have to let me go if you want me to?—”
The words collapsed as he pressed me harder into the door. He didn’t budge. Didn’t ease up. Instead, Luka lowered his mouth to my ear.
“I’d rather watch you struggle.” His voice was quiet and close, and the words shunted heat straight to the base of my spine.
I could have said no. God knows, I should have. Instead, I let the moment tip, and my body decided for me.
One-handed, I grabbed the hem of my skirt and bunched it up, then, with a gracelessness that should have killed the mood, wriggled the black microfiber down over my hips.
My skirt was hiked up to my hips, the panties halfway down, when I caught him watching, eyes hungry and predatory, but also—fuck—gentle. My hands shook as I shimmied the underwear over my knees and down to my ankles until they puddled at my feet.
I could still come to my senses and call this off.
But then he pressed his knee between my thighs.
“Good girl.”
The cold of his jeans, the solid press of his thigh, his words purring in my brain. My thoughts thinned to white noise.
He took my wrists in one palm and pinned them above my head. My heels skated on the slick tile as he levered me onto my toes with nothing but his body and that relentless knee.
I registered the click of the deadbolt beneath my shoulder blade. The clean mechanical sound cut through the haze, and I almost laughed at the drama of it all.
Then he kissed me.
No, not kissed. Consumed. He took my mouth like he’d been holding back for hours. A low sound—half growl, half something darker—broke from him, and whatever was left of my resistance burned away.
Luka tasted of vodka and cold air and a sweetness I hadn’t expected—like honey or plum.
He broke the kiss, his breath rough. “Sit on the bed,” he said, voice so low it vibrated through my sternum. “Now.”
I hesitated—partly habit, and partly to see what he’d do if I didn’t.
He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t muscle me. Just looked at me with those crystalline eyes and waited, unflinching, as if he had all night to see whether I’d obey.
I broke first. The moment I relented, he released his hold with a slow reversal, his eyes never leaving mine. I braced my palms behind me on the edge of the bed and shimmied backward, skirt bunched high on my thighs, panties somewhere in a black pool by the door.
He stood over me for a long, unsparing moment, the planes of his face divided in the lamplight—one half carved in ice, the other molten. Then he knelt, slowly, never breaking eye contact, until he was level with my knees.
“Spread your legs,” he said, the words even but edged.
I didn’t move. Every muscle locked, holding the line.
He shifted closer. I could see the pulse beating hard at his throat and the steady rise and fall of his breath.
“You do it, or I will.” His voice dropped, silk dragged over gravel. “And you won’t like it if I do.”
I let out a shaky breath and parted my knees—a polite inch at first, then wider, until chilled air prickled warm skin.
His gaze tracked down. The weight of it burned slow stripes up my thighs.