KISS OF HIS BETRAYAL
Then, with the same casual dominance, he offered the same finger to me, implicitly asking me to feed him.
My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs, but I was too terrified to refuse. My hand trembled as I brought the cake to his lips, a silent act of submission that shamed me to my core.
He took the bite and licked my finger, his eyes never leaving mine, then slowly straightened, a triumphant glint in his gaze. He leaned in, placing a soft, lingering kiss on my forehead, a chilling gesture of possessiveness.
“Happy Birthday, once again,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive whisper that promised both pleasure and pain.
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