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She hadn’t just invited this, she’d craved it. And now, lying alone in the darkness, her body still humming from his touch, she faced a frightening truth: she wanted more.
She rolled onto her side, curling into herself as if that could contain the dangerous thoughts threatening to overwhelm her. But there was no escaping the truth anymore. She wanted him to touch her again, to break her apart and put her back together with those skilled hands and burning eyes.
Georgia shifted restlessly against the sheets, her skin feverish and hypersensitive. Every brush of silk against her body sparked another wave of sensation, echoing where his handshad touched her. Her muscles clenched with phantom pressure, remembering the weight of his palm, the grip of his fingers.
She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the throbbing ache that refused to subside. Her eyes squeezed shut, but that only intensified the memories: the heat of his hand, the precise rhythm of his strikes, the way her body had betrayed her by arching into each touch.
Each strike had peeled back another layer of resistance until she was bare before him, trembling and desperate for more. The truth burned through her veins. She hadn’t just submitted, she’d craved it.
She’d proven he could be provoked. But he’d proven that he knew exactly how to unravel her. Worse still, some part of her had always known this would happen, and had been waiting for it, wanting it.
Her body pulsed with need she couldn’t ignore. Tonight had changed everything. This wasn’t just about power or control or their contract. He’d awakened something in her that refused to be denied.
Georgia’s hand slid across her bare stomach, hesitating at the edge of her underwear. She shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t crave the memory of his touch so desperately that her body ached with it. But the need pulsing between her thighs wouldn’t be denied any longer.
Her fingers dipped beneath the delicate fabric, finding the slick heat that had built since she’d left his study. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she touched herself, her body so sensitive it bordered on pain.
She closed her eyes, and suddenly it wasn’t her fingers anymore. It was Adrian’s hand moving against her, his touch commanding and precise. The fantasy took hold immediately, as though her mind had been waiting to surrender to it.
He was there in the room with her, standing beside the bed. His eyes tracked every movement, every reaction. His presence filled the space around her, controlling even the rhythm of her breathing.
“Look at you,” she imagined him saying, his voice that perfect blend of ice and fire. “So desperate for my touch that you can’t even wait for me to give it to you.”
Her fingers moved faster as the fantasy deepened. She imagined his weight pressing down on the mattress as he joined her, his hand replacing hers. The way he would take control, setting his own pace—not to please her, but to watch her unravel under his command.
Georgia’s back arched off the bed as pleasure coiled tighter inside her. In her mind, Adrian’s mouth was at her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he told her exactly what he planned to do to her body. How he would use her for his pleasure, take what he wanted while making her beg for more.
Her free hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white with tension as she imagined him above her, his powerful body caging her beneath him. She could almost feel the weight of him, the heat of his skin against hers, the strength in his hands as they pinned her wrists above her head.
She pictured him entering her slowly, filling her completely, his eyes never leaving hers as he claimed her body. Not gently, notcarefully. Taking her with the same controlled force he applied to everything in his life.
“You’re mine,” she heard him whisper in her fantasy, the words echoing through her mind as her movements grew more frantic. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”
Her hips lifted off the bed, chasing the pleasure building within her. She imagined him holding her down, setting his own rhythm, using her body for his satisfaction while bringing her to the edge again and again.
The fantasy was so vivid she could almost feel his breath on her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, marking her as his possession. Her fingers circled faster as she imagined him taking his pleasure from her body, demanding her surrender with each powerful thrust.
“Let go,” she heard his voice command in her mind. “Now.”
Georgia’s body tensed, trembling on the edge as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Her back arched sharply as waves of release crashed through her, Adrian’s name catching in her throat. Her body pulsed with aftershocks as she rode out the intensity, imagining his satisfied smile as he watched her come apart beneath him.
As the pleasure slowly ebbed, reality crept back in. The room was empty, the sheets beside her cold. There was no commanding presence, no controlling hands, just her own ragged breathing in the darkness.
Georgia rolled onto her side, curling into herself as the magnitude of what had happened washed over her. She’d crossed a line tonight, one she couldn’t uncross. Not just inAdrian’s study, but here, alone, surrendering to fantasies of him that left her both satisfied and achingly empty.
The truth settled over her like a weight: she wanted him. Not just physically, but completely. She wanted his control, his possession, his claim on her body and mind. The realization terrified her more than anything he could ever do to her.
Because wanting Adrian Adler—truly wanting him—was the most dangerous game she could play.
CHAPTER 10
The next evening, Georgia dressed with painstaking care, her body still haunted by the ghost of the night before. She’d told herself it meant nothing, just tension, just release, but the truth had burned too deep to ignore.
Now, seated across from Adrian at the long dining table, she felt the weight of that truth in every breath. The air between them was deceptively calm, all crystal and candlelight and civilized silence, but beneath it ran the same current that had unraveled her in the dark.
She lifted her wineglass, letting the rich burgundy catch the light. “The vintage reminds me of the one served at the Laurent gallery opening.” Her fingers traced the stem. “Richard Vaughn mentioned how rare it was that evening.”
The name slipped from her lips like silk, casual and unremarkable. But her gaze never left Adrian’s face, searching for the smallest tell.