Shhh Daddy won’t Know
His eyes, dark and unreadable in the low light, traveled over her from her damp, tangled hair, down over the sheer silk clinging to her wet skin, to her bare feet on the cool floor.
"My father," he said, his voice a low, rough scrape, "has excellent taste in scotch." He held up the glass, examining the liquid. "And, it turns out, an even better taste in women." His eyes snapped back to hers. "It's a real shame he's too much of a cold bastard to appreciate it
He stood up. The movement was fluid, powerful, like a big cat uncoiling. He set the glass down on Julian's nightstand with a soft, final clink. The sound was like a starting pistol.
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