Page 48 of Masked Seduction

“I can’t believe...” I start to say, but trail off, lost in the joy of the afterglow.

He presses a kiss to my temple. “Believe it.”

At that, I melt a little bit more.

CHAPTER 17

ABRAM

“What are you staring at?” she asks.

I’m seated on the couch, one arm draped over the back, shirt still unbuttoned, chest heaving faintly. I lean back, letting my gaze travel.

She’s slipping her blouse back over her shoulders. The way the fabric glides over her skin, the way her hair sticks slightly to the back of her neck, still damp with sweat… it's all I can do not to pull her back to me again.

I grin. “You’re too smart to ask a question like that.”

That earns me a flicker of a smile. But I spot subtle tension in her shoulders, just beneath the surface. She turns, shirt unbuttoned, bra and no panties, and I beckon her over with a curl of my fingers. She hesitates before crossing the room and sinking into the space beside me. Her body fits against mine like it’s always belonged there. She’s warm and soft. I rest my palm on her thigh and lean in, letting my breath ghost over the shell of her ear.

“I’m glad the secret’s out,” I say.

She tenses slightly but nods.

“I could barely keep my hands to myself. Now I don’t have to.”

That should make her smile. Maybe throw one of her cheeky comments back at me.

But she doesn’t. She’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Her fingers toy with the edge of her shirt, her eyes fixed somewhere across the room. I can practically hear her thoughts clicking into place like dominoes. I know that look—she’s overthinking, analyzing, retreating.

I draw her closer, kissing her cheek, her jaw. “You don’t have to feel awkward.”

She blushes, almost imperceptibly, and nods again. But still, she doesn’t speak. That’s not like Jenna.

“Alright,” I say softly, letting my hand settle at the small of her back. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head.

“Jenna.”

Still nothing.

I tip her chin up with my fingers and her eyes meet mine, wide and uncertain. “Tell me.”

I don’t say it like a demand. Not quite. But my voice is firm, coaxing. At that moment, I can feel her slipping into a shell.

I won’t let her. Not after this.

Her lips part like she’s about to answer, but then she stops herself. I wait, giving her space. The silence stretches. She’s quiet for a few more beats, fingers tracing the seam of my shirt. Then, she exhales softly and looks up at me.

“At the club,” she says, her voice low, “I didn’t know who you were.”

I stay quiet, letting her talk.

She swallows. “And because of that, something in me let go. I wasn’t thinking about how I looked. I wasn’t over-analyzing every part of my body. I just felt...” She pauses, searching for the word, “Free.”