The fourth night, there was no teasing. There were no games, no silk ropes, and no long, whispered monologues designed to make her head spin. The air in the room felt different the moment he stepped through the glass—heavier, charged with a blunt, honest hunger that did away with the need for a slow buildup. Lila was already waiting for him. She was naked on the center of the bed, her skin flushed, her body already wet with a physical anticipation she couldn't have hidden if she tried. She watched him walk in, and for the first time, she saw a crack in his calculated composure. His eyes weren't just storm clouds tonight; they were a dark, burning charcoal. He looked at her, really looked at her, and a low, gutteral growl vibrated in his chest. It was a sound of pure, masculine recognition. “On the bed,” he commanded, his voice like gravel. “Now.” Lila didn't move because she already was where he wanted her, but she arched her back slightly, offering herself up in a way that made hi
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