His smirk deepened, his eyes dark with
something unreadable. “Didn’t you hear me?” he asked, his voice low, mocking.
Emma shivered.
It wasn't cold. It was him.
Somehow in my heart, I knew what he wanted. The power. The control. The sheer, absolute domination over me.
Emma shivered. Her mind raced.
He was looking at me—no, through me—stripping me bare before I had even moved an inch.
His gaze was like a physical force, an invisible touch that burned hotter than any hand ever could. It wasn’t just his eyes; it was the way he held himself, the way his presence filled the room, commanding every ounce of my attention.
Her skin prickled under the weight of his stare.
“I said, STRIP.”
The word cracked through the room like a whip, raw and commanding, wrapping around Emma like a noose
