The Naughty Deal

Chapter 10: Wet Shirt

"Unless... you know exactly what this card is."

Adrian’s thumb drew slow, deliberate circles on my wrist, sending sparks of fire up my arm. His dark eyes locked onto mine, daring me to confess.

My mind raced. If I told him the truth, he would know I wasn't just a quiet student. He would know about my past.

"I... I read an article," I lied, my voice shaking. "A true-crime blog. They posted a picture of that logo. They said it was a... an illegal underground society for the ultra-rich."

Adrian’s intense gaze lingered on my face for a long, agonizing moment. He was a human lie detector, analyzing my every blink.

Then, unexpectedly, he let go of my wrist.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. "An illegal underground society? You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet, Miss Lin."

He stepped back, slipping the metal card into his pocket.

"It is merely a private gentlemen's club," he said smoothly, though the wicked glint in his eye told me he knew exactly how dirty that club was. "Now, give me the Miller file and get back to your desk. We have work to do."

I scrambled up from the floor, handing him the folder. My knees felt like jelly.

I survived. He bought the lie. Or at least, he didn't care enough to press further.

I hurried to my computer in the corner and started typing. But I couldn't focus. My mind was spinning. The strict Professor Black frequented Secret Pleasures. The image of him wearing a silver mask and nothing else kept flashing in my mind, making my typing sloppy.

An hour passed in heavy silence, broken only by the scratching of his pen and the occasional angry huff from Sunny the cat.

"I need coffee," I mumbled to myself, rubbing my tired eyes.

"Kitchen. Down the hall, first door on the left," Adrian commanded without looking up from his laptop. "Make me one too. Black. No sugar."

I stood up, grateful for the excuse to escape his suffocating presence.

The kitchen was massive, looking like it belonged in a magazine. I managed to brew two cups of coffee using a terrifyingly expensive espresso machine.

Balancing the two steaming mugs, I walked back to the study.

"Coffee delivery," I announced, walking toward his desk.

I carefully placed his black coffee next to his laptop. He nodded a silent thanks.

I turned around to walk back to my corner.

MEOOOOW!

Sunny erupted from under Adrian’s desk like a furry white missile. She darted right between my legs.

I gasped. My foot caught on her tail, and I lost my balance.

"Whoa!"

I pitched forward. The mug in my hand tilted.

"Maya!" Adrian shouted, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

But it was too late.

The hot coffee splashed directly onto my chest, spilling all the way down to my thighs.

"Ow! Hot!" I cried out, dropping the empty mug. It bounced on the thick rug, thankfully not breaking.

But the damage was done. My white blouse, cheap, thin cotton, was soaked instantly. The warm brown liquid stained the fabric, and it kept dripping, soaking into the denim of my cheap jeans.

As the cotton of my blouse got wet, it became completely transparent.

Underneath, I was wearing a bright pink lace bra. The one Cleo had bought me for my birthday, insisting I needed to feel sexy even if I was just studying.

I froze, looking down at my chest in pure horror. I quickly crossed my arms to cover myself.

"I'm so sorry! The rug... I'll clean it!" I stammered, panic rising in my throat.

Adrian wasn't looking at the rug.

He was standing on the other side of the desk, his hands gripping the mahogany edge so hard his knuckles were white. His eyes were fixed on my chest, before slowly tracking the dark coffee stain down my wet jeans.

His gaze was dark. Ravenous. The cold professor was gone, replaced by the predator I wrote about in my stories.

"Are you burned?" he asked. His voice was rough, like gravel.

"I... no. It cooled down in the mug. It just startled me," I whispered.

He walked around the desk. Slowly. Deliberately.

I took a step back, but my back hit the bookshelf.

He stopped right in front of me. He reached out, his hand hovering over my wet shirt, but he didn't touch me. The heat from his large body radiated against my damp skin.

"You're soaking wet," he murmured, his eyes tracing the visible pink lace.

"It was Sunny... she tripped me," I explained, my voice trembling.

"You can't work like this," Adrian said tightly. "And you can't go home in wet clothes in the cold air."

He turned abruptly and walked to a door on the far side of the room. He opened it, revealing a private bathroom. He pulled open a drawer and tossed a black t-shirt at me.

"Change," he ordered. "The jeans too. Take it all off."

"Professor, I can just dry off the jeans..."

"Change, Maya," he growled, the deep command vibrating in the small room. "Unless you want me to spend the rest of the night staring at your pink lace bra. Because contrary to popular belief, I am a man, not a saint."

My breath hitched. He admitted it.

He turned and walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

I stood there, shaking. I quickly peeled off my sticky, coffee-stained blouse and unbuttoned my heavy, wet jeans, kicking them aside. I wiped my skin with a towel and pulled his black t-shirt over my head.

It was huge. It fell to my mid-thighs, swallowing my upper body completely. But underneath, I was wearing nothing but my panties. My legs were completely bare.

The fabric smelled exactly like him, sandalwood and danger. Wearing his clothes, with my bare legs exposed to the cool air, felt far more intimate than being naked.

I took a deep, shaky breath, pushed the door open, and stepped out.

Adrian was kneeling, cleaning the spilled coffee on the rug with a towel. Hearing the door click, he stood up.

He looked at me in his oversized shirt. The room went deadly quiet.

His eyes darkened to pitch black. His gaze started at the collar of the shirt, tracking the way the soft fabric hung on my small frame, before dropping lower. He stared at my bare thighs, his eyes tracing the length of my legs down to my bare feet.

I shifted uncomfortably, my cheeks burning under his ravenous stare. I felt entirely exposed, entirely his.

Adrian swallowed hard, his jaw clenching tight. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Sit down," he said. His voice was a harsh, raspy whisper. He pointed to my desk. "Finish the last file. Then go. Before I forget my own rules."

I practically ran to my desk. I needed to finish and escape before I did something incredibly stupid, like jump into his arms.

I reached into my bag to get my phone to check the time.

It wasn't there.

I looked around. "Where is my..."

Then I saw it.

My phone was sitting on Adrian’s desk, right next to where I had placed his coffee. I must have put it down when I delivered the cup.

And the screen was lit up with a notification.

Adrian was standing over his desk, staring down at my phone. The s****l tension from seconds ago was instantly replaced by something far more dangerous.

"You have a message," he said. His voice was strange. Cold. Too quiet.

I walked over quickly to retrieve it, painfully aware of my bare legs. "Oh, thanks. Probably just spam."

I reached for the phone, but Adrian didn't move his hand away. He was looking at the lock screen.

My lock screen was a picture of Milo. A close-up of his little face. He wasn't smiling; he was staring at the camera with intense, dark eyes and a stubborn little pout.

Adrian looked at the photo. Then he looked at me. Then back at the photo.

Slowly, he picked up the phone.

"Professor?" I asked, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "Give it back, please."

He turned the screen toward me.

"Who is this?" he asked softly.

"It's... my nephew," I lied. The word felt like ash in my mouth.

Adrian studied the boy's face on the screen. He didn't say anything for a long moment. He just stared, a heavy frown forming between his brows. His eyes traced the boy's dark hair, the sharp shape of his jaw, and that intense, brooding expression.

"Your nephew," he repeated slowly, testing the word.

"Yes," I forced out, trying to keep my voice steady. "Can I have my phone back?"

Adrian didn't hand it back. Instead, he looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. The temperature in the room seemed to drop below freezing.

"I have a photograph in my mother's house, taken when I was exactly this young," he said softly, never breaking eye contact with me. "If I put it next to this picture... they would look like the exact same child."

He took a slow step closer, his towering presence swallowing me.

"Tell me, Maya," he whispered, a suspicion burning in his dark eyes. "Why does your nephew look exactly like me?"