The sound cracked through the quiet like a gunshot.
His head lifted slowly. His eyes didn’t go to the key first. They went to me.
And then they stayed on me.
His gaze swept from my bare legs to the thin lace clinging to my hips, the black bra that barely covered anything, the wild mess of my hair from just waking up. He didn’t say anything for a full beat. Just looked at me like he was trying to decide whether to drag me across the desk or strangle me.
His jaw clenched. His voice came out low, tight. “What the f**k were you thinking, running around the house dressed like that? Like a f*****g whore.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” I snapped, arms crossing over my chest.
“You’re getting bolder these days,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “Do you need a reminder of who owns you
