A strong, foreign urge to touch myself ignites inside me. I glance at Faye, who’s taken a seat at the vanity, waiting to offer her help should I need it.

What I need is privacy.

“I can dress on my own tonight for dinner. You and Elise should settle into your quarters and get ready.”

Through narrowed eyes, she studies me as if searching for everything I’m not saying. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I just need some time alone.”

“Of course.”

After she leaves me alone with my lustful thoughts, I waste no time in pushing a hand between my legs. I’ve never felt so decadent and sinful. Steam rises off my slick skin, and I close my eyes as my fingers explore, increasing the rhythm once I press on the spot that feels especially good. I let those stored pictures of Liam play in my head. Hear his voice in my ears. Pretend the touch of my fingers are his. I flush even hotter, my heartbeat pounding behind my breastbone.

I’ve never been so close. Instead of shying away, like I did the last time I touched myself, I increase the pressure and speed, imagining the chancellor bracing above me, bare chest grazing my nipples.

He unlocked something deep inside me when he used my mouth the way he did. Something naughty and primal. A yearning that wasn’t there before—the need to know what it’s like to surrender to oneself.

To surrender to someone else.

I push two fingertips inside my pussy and envision his cock there instead. “Liam,” I moan, the plea for more rumbling off my lips.

And that’s when someone sucks in a harsh breath.

My eyes flick open.

The man of my fantasies is standing at the foot of the tub, his toffee eyes reduced to slits. Both hands form fists at his sides.

I veer upright, hands covering my chest, and water sloshes everywhere. “What are you doing in here!”

“I live here.”

“But these are my private quarters.”

“You won’t find a place on this island I don’t have access to.” He rounds the tub and hauls me out of the water to stand before him in stunned mortification. “Did you come?”

My cheeks flame even hotter. “N-no.”

Water runs in rivulets down my skin, dripping from my hair, soaking the plush mat under my feet. Blood throbs between my legs, a wondrous itch I can’t scratch. As displeasure darkens his beautiful features, I can’t help but grieve for the climax that didn’t happen. What would it have felt like to tip over the edge?

“Orgasm is a gift,” he says, his grip tight on my wrist as he pulls me out of my suite of rooms and into the shared space of the penthouse. “You’re never to take it without permission.”