The crystal chandeliers of the Grand Savoy dining room hung like frozen tears, casting a jagged light over the dozen members of the Kincaid Board of Directors.
Elena sat at Julian's right hand, a vision in a black velvet gown that hugged every curve. The fabric was thick and expensive, but beneath it, she felt terrifyingly exposed. Julian's command—no underwear—echoed in her mind with every cool breeze that brushed against her skin.
"You're quiet tonight, Mrs. Kincaid," Arthur Sterling, the oldest and most skeptical board member, remarked from across the table. "One would think a bride would be more... talkative."
"She's simply breathless from our honeymoon phase," Julian replied smoothly.
He didn't look at Elena as he spoke. He was cutting his steak with clinical precision. But then, his left hand disappeared beneath the white linen tablecloth.
Elena stiffened.
His hand found her mid-thigh. His palm was a searing brand against her bare skin. She let out a soft, sharp intake of breath that she quickly tried to disguise as a cough.
"Are you alright, darling?" Julian asked, his voice dripping with mock concern.
He didn't wait for an answer. His fingers began to move, trekking higher, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Elena's heart began to pulsate with a frantic, rhythmic violence. She gripped her wine glass so hard the stem creaked. Every nerve ending in her body was suddenly screaming, focused entirely on the heavy, warm hand inching closer to her most guarded secret.
"I'm... I'm fine," she managed to choke out, her voice a pitch higher than usual.
Julian's fingers reached the hem of her dress where the velvet met the void. He paused there, his fingertips just grazing the damp heat of her core.
The sensation was like a jolt of electricity. Elena's thighs clamped shut instinctively, capturing his hand, but Julian only smirked into his wine glass. He didn't pull away. Instead, he used the pressure to his advantage, his knuckles rubbing against her center through the agonizingly thin barrier of her poise.
"As I was saying," Julian continued, addressed to the board, his voice as steady as a surgeon's, "the merger will stabilize the Vane assets within the first quarter."
While he discussed millions of dollars and corporate restructuring, he was systematically unraveling her. He was playing her body like a fine instrument, his touch firm and demanding. Elena felt a liquid heat pooling between her legs, a desperate, heavy ache that made her want to slide off the chair and beg.
She looked at him, her eyes wide and pleading, but Julian's expression was a mask of professional indifference. He was a monster. A beautiful, cruel monster who wanted to see her break in a room full of his peers.
"Elena?" Sterling asked again, narrowing his eyes. "You're flushed. Is the room too warm for you?"
"I..." She gasped as Julian's thumb found a specific, sensitive point. Her back arched slightly, her breasts straining against the velvet. "Yes. It's... quite stifling."
"Perhaps my wife needs some air," Julian said, finally withdrawing his hand.
The sudden loss of his touch was almost worse than the torment itself. Elena felt cold, empty, and dangerously unsatisfied.
Julian stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. He reached down, offering his hand. To the board, he looked like the perfect, attentive husband. To Elena, he looked like a predator who had finished playing with his food and was now ready to eat.
"Gentlemen, excuse us," Julian said, his eyes finally locking onto Elena's. They weren't grey anymore; they were the black of a midnight sea. "I think it's time I took my wife home. She's had a very... exhausting day."
He leaned down, his lips ghosting over her ear, his voice a husky rasp that promised no mercy.
"Walk fast, Elena. I'm losing my patience."