Page 70 of Unmarked
“You sure?” he hums. “Because you’re breathing like you’re about to ask me to do the opposite.”
“I’m breathing like I’m annoyed.”
He hums again. “You sound flustered.”
“I sound like I want to punt you down the hallway.”
“Sure you do,” he says smoothly, “That's why you’ve been pressed up against that door for thirty-five seconds now.”
I blink.
Glance down.
And -shit.
Full chest-to-door contact. My nipples areliterallyfogging up the steel through the robe.
I shove off the door like it’s betrayed me. “That means nothing.”
“It means you’re slick again,” he says simply.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His voice is smooth and smug. “Don’t notice? Or don’t enjoy it?”
“I willend youthrough this door, Lucian Vale.”
“I’d love to see you try. You’d probably hump it by accident.”
My hands curl into fists against the door. “Leave me alone.”
“No.” His voice dips lower. “You don’t get to stand there soaking through that robe, panting against the door like you’re begging for contact, and then pretend you don’t want someone on the other side.”
The robe’s clinging now - too warm, too soft. My thighs are damp again, slick sliding where skin meets skin.
I squeeze them together, biting back the sound that threatens to escape.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Lucian continues, completely undeterred. “The ache starting low. The way your skin’s too tight, too hot, tooneedy.”
I make a sound. A high-pitched, angry noise that is definitelynota whimper.
“You’re twitching,” he says. “Clenching your thighs together. Hoping pressure helps. Hopinganythinghelps.”
“Shut up,” I whisper, horrified at how breathy it sounds.
“You’re burning,” he murmurs, “and that little robe’s soaked straight through, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer. Ican’tanswer.
Because unfortunately, he’s right.Again.
I press my forehead to the cold surface like it’ll ground me, but it doesn’t. Nothing does.
My body buzzes with it - heat, need, shame - and something uglier beneath.
Desire.
Forhim.
