'What... was that?!'
Florian slammed the door behind him the moment he stepped back into what he now mentally dubbed
"The Kitchen of Humiliation."
His hands immediately flew to his skirt, yanking it down with frantic little tugs as if it would somehow erase what just happened.
His heart was pounding—no, slamming against his ribs. His breathing was shallow, and worse yet... the phantom sensation of Heinz's hand was still there.
Right on his thigh. Warm.
'It was an accident. Right?'
...right?
His hands clenched into fists, then unclenched, then clenched again. His entire body was trembling—not just from embarrassment but from... something else.
Something heavier.
Something more confusing.
'But it didn't feel like an accident.'
It was the same hand that commanded armies. The same hand that could level an entire city with a flick of a finger... pressing against his bare skin beneath the skirt.
Sliding... down. Slowly. Intentionally.
