Six

I stood by the double doors, back straight, eyes fixed on the far wall. My hands were clasped behind me, fingers twitching with controlled tension. I tried not to look—God knows I tried.

But she was in the mirror.

Arabella.

How could I not steal a look?

In beautiful silk and lace, she stood in the middle of the room. The dress clung to her like it was carved on her body, half-zipped and half-exposed, her skin glowing softly under the golden light.

Marco lounged in a velvet chair a few feet away, legs spread, watching her as if she were a prized possession meant for display. He licked...