My height grants me the perfect vantage point of her book, and I scoot closer, following along with her finger as she devours the page she’s reading.

His fingers threaded through her silky hair, giving a sharp and forceful tug. A cry escaped from her hungry, ravished mouth. It wasn’t enough. She was so desperate. So ready. So eager to submit to him. She wanted him in more ways than she ever thought imaginable. There’s nothing he could ask her that she wouldn’t do. His wings spread out beneath her, coaxing her on her way to the first of many org—

“Fuck,” I whisper, mouth hovering above her ear. She jumps, turning to look up at me. “You’re not restless at all, are you? Tell me, Emma, what’s going through your mind.”

“The book is turning me on.”

I let out a breath.

Hot.

So hot.

So sinfully hot she’s reading filthy things next to me. I reach out and cup her face, thumb rubbing over her high cheekbones as I caress her flawless skin. “Look at how you’re reacting just from reading. What would you be like if I were the one whispering in your ear? The one showing you what I want to do with you?”

She slams the book closed, shoving it away. It topples off the bed, landing on the floor with a pronounced thunk.

“Show me.”

I hum, dragging my thumb from her cheek to her lips, grazing over the mouth I want to kiss. The mouth I want to fuck. The mouth I want to cherish. My eyes roam freely down her face, landing on her chest. She might be wearing a shirt, but her nipples are hard and pointed, peaked and outlined through the thin cotton. Her breathing is turning more and more ragged, rapidly increasing as it becomes shallower with every inhale.

“Are you wet, Emma?”

It’s a simple question, one I already know the answer to, but I want to hear it from her. She’s going to be the one to dictate our next steps.

Does she want to tell me?

Will she tell me?

How far does she want this to go tonight?

I’ve never been so anxious to hear someone speak.

Shifting on the sheets, she opens her mouth, and with one word, she nearly explodes my brain. “Yes,” she rasps. The covers slip from her waist, down her thighs, milky white skin displaying itself to me. “What are you going to do about it?”

Slowly, I grin.

It’s not a friendly, fun grin. It’s not lighthearted or nurturing.

No.

It’s a grin that promises wreckage. A grin that promises to expound on her desires. A grin that promises to obliterate her prior beliefs and experiences, setting a new standard. One that will be hard to beat.

“Do you want me to do something about it?”