Ben’s fingers moved with an agonizing slowness, teasing Stacy to the very edge of control, but never giving her what she truly craved. His touch was fire against her skin, his breath a cruel whisper of heat against her neck. She arched against him, letting out a frustrated sigh as he trailed his fingertips down her arms, barely touching but igniting every nerve in her body.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement.
Stacy gritted her teeth, her nails digging into the desk beneath her. “Ben…”
“Hmm?” His tone was infuriatingly composed, as if he wasn’t the one who had her trembling, as if he wasn’t enjoying the power he held over her.
She tilted her head, trying to regain control, but Ben was quicker—his hand slipping beneath her chin, forcing her to look a
