Time slowed.
Aria didn’t know how long she’d been kneeling. It could have been minutes. Hours. Her thighs were burning. Her back ached from holding still. Her mouth was dry and her skin was flushed all over, burning with want, with exposure, with shame so sweet it bordered on pleasure.
But she didn’t move.
Not when her knees began to sting.
Not when her muscles twitched involuntarily.
Not even when she thought she might cry.
He just sat there. Watching her. Silent. Sipping his whisky like this was nothing more than a game of chess. She couldn’t read him. Couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking.
All she knew was that she wanted to please him more than she wanted relief.
Then finally—finally—he moved.
He stood slowly, setting his glass aside, and walked toward her with mea
