Taking a slow breath, he let his hand brush against her knee—just the faintest touch, testing, waiting. No resistance. No rejection. His confidence edged forward. His fingertips danced upward, tracing the soft curve of her thigh, slipping beneath the silken hem. Her muscles tensed for an instant, but her expression never changed. Cold, composed, perfect.
You won't let me see, huh? Then I'll make you show it.
Mikhailis's fingers curled gently, finding the warm, damp heat beneath the fabric. A slow, gentle caress, just enough pressure to tease. His touch traced lazy circles, feeling her slick warmth grow beneath his fingertips. Still, Lira's face remained a perfect porcelain mask. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest betrayed her.
