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MICHELE
Anger radiatedfrom Michele as he regarded his pet, so entranced by her own reflection. Was that everything it took to get to her? Call herpretty?
He scowled though he let his greedy eyes roam over her this up close.
It had been weeks since he'd been this close to her.
Her scent invaded his nostrils and breathed in deeply.
Goddamn but he was like a fucking addict, and he couldn't allow that. Addiction meant loss of control and he'd already established she would never get influence him that way.
“W-what are you doing here?" she blinked, assessing him with trepidation.
Though inside he was seething, he let his shoulders angle up in a relaxed shrug. The key was to show her she didn't control him.
"I was in passing."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"It's the women's bathroom," she said, her words slow and even.
By God, his pet was being semi-confrontational and he couldn't help the way his heart thundered in his chest in anticipation.
"So it is," he smiled, taking a step closer.
She looked at him warily before studying her surroundings, biting her lip in apprehension when she realized she couldn't escape.
"It's been a while, pet, hasn't it?" he drawled in his smooth, seductive tone—the one he'd always used to keep her in his thrall.
"Don't call me that," she hissed in a low voice—the first time she'd uttered such an objection.
Michele's brows drew up in surprise, but he quickly masked it.
"Why would I not call you that when it's what you are. My pet. Mine," his voice boomed at the last word, and she startled, her eyes flickering with something akin to fear. "Or have you forgotten that, pet?"
"We're nothing," she whispered, moving along the counter of the bathroom in an attempt to get away from him.
He merely chuckled, his movements slow and precise to convey that he was fully in control of himself and the situation.
Taking one step forward, he brought his ungloved hand to her naked shoulder, trailing the back of his fingers down her skin and enjoying the way it erupted in goosebumps.
She wasn't indifferent, was she?
She blinked repeatedly as she raised her gaze to his, her lips parting, her breath labored.
For one moment, he let himself feel her skin under his fingertips. For weeks he'd been depriving himself of this—of the one person he could touch at leisure without experiencing physical pain. It was so soft and warm—so familiar.
And then there were her eyes. So big and growing bigger as she watched him with hidden emotion.
He was surrounded by a sea of sensation and he didn't know onwhichto focus. Her supple skin that made his own come alive through the barest contact, or her eyes, those two big pools of confusion that made him lose himself in them.
It was an overload of feeling as he stepped even closer until the warmth from her entire body met his, proving to him that he was still alive—that he was still capable of things living men were.
But just as he found himself so entranced by her mere presence, he realized it for what it was—his ultimate loss of control.
None too gentle, he wrenched his hand from her shoulder, instead bringing it to the front of her top, pulling on the material.
"What are you wearing?" he did his best to keep his voice under control, but it still came out raspy, harsh.
