Paul’s command, sharp and absolute, hung in the air: “Now, on your knees.”
Mariella’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum against the silence of the suite. The wine glass, heavy a moment ago, felt suddenly fragile in her trembling hand. Her mind screamed in protest. This is real. This is happening.
But the words were out, the challenge laid. She had spent the last week daring him, propositioning him with a vulgarity that now felt like a noose around her neck.
She took a slow, deliberate sip of wine, stalling for a second, allowing her brain to frantically search for an escape clause, a witty retort, anything to reclaim a sliver of control. Her eyes, wide and still, met his. She saw the amusement there, a flicker of something almost predatory, but also a deep, unnerving certa
