When his hand slipped beneath the silk of my robe to rest against the bare skin of my waist, I gasped against his mouth. The sound seemed to bring him back to himself, and he pulled away, his breathing ragged.
"I should go," he said, but his hand remained on my waist.
"Should you?" I asked, surprised by my own boldness.
His eyes searched mine, looking for uncertainty, for hesitation. When he found none, something shifted in his expression.
"Maya," he said, my name a warning and a question all at once.
I reached for the hem of his t-shirt, my fingers lightly grazing the warm skin of his stomach. He drew in a sharp breath at the touch.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked with his voice rough with desire and restraint.
I looked up at him—at this man who had defended me, protected me, made me feel valued in ways I hadn't known I needed. Our arrangement was supposed to be purely business, but somewhere along the way, it had become something else entirely.
"I'm sure," I whispered.
