The parlor door shut with a deliberate click, and the sound echoed through her chest like a hammer.
She stood in the half-dark, silk robe slipping from one shoulder, breathing shallow as though the walls had tightened around her. He hadn’t moved from where he stood, but his presence filled the room, pressing against her like a hand at her throat.
“You think you’ve been feeding,” he said, his voice low, certain. “You’ve been playing. Picking at scraps. But I—” he stepped closer, shadows curling with him, “—I will show you what your hunger is for.”
Her nails dug crescents into her palms. Every instinct screamed to bolt, to snarl, to deny him. But the fire beneath her skin betrayed her, pulsing, wetting her thighs with every breath he took nearer.
“I don’t want—” she began, but the words
