The early hours of the night belonged to Olivia. She had turned their suite into her personal stage, her body the performance, her pleasure the act, and Dylan, her only audience.
She moved slowly and sensually torment, fully aware of every effect she had on him. And Dylan? He sat still, his fists clenched on his thighs, his jaw set, his chest rising and falling with labored restraint.
His eyes had long since turned stormy, dark, needy, and starving. Yet he made no move toward her. It was her game, and he'd agreed to the rules. At least, for now.
Olivia's smile widened as she caught the glimmer of pain behind his gaze. He was unraveling, because of her. And that pleased her more than anything. It was her punishment for his recent distance. She wanted him to feel everything he was making her feel. Craving. Powerless. Desperate.
