She arrived thirty minutes late.
Not by accident, but as a calculated move.
Delilah's entrance was deliberate. The rhythmic click of her heels against the marble floors echoed through the penthouse like a siren's call. Every eye in the room lifted to meet her, but none lingered longer than Professor Kellan Hart's. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
Delilah was wrapped in deep black latex. A second skin that shimmered beneath the soft lighting, hugging her hourglass shape like sin itself. Beneath it, lace teased at her cleavage, peeking out with the kind of quiet audacity only a woman in full control dared to wear. She didn't dress to impress. She dressed to haunt.
"Evening, Professor," she said, her voice coated in something sweet and dangerous. "I hope you haven't started without me."
