Enzo's arrival had already been sensed. The moment he stepped into Hansel's bedroom, the heavy, suffocating pressure slammed into him like a wet blanket. It felt like chains wrapping around his lungs. The exact opposite of the light, addictive warmth he felt when Evelyn clung to him in her sleep.
Hansel was waiting on the bed, perched like a spider in her web. She wore a flowing, almost transparent silk nightgown that clung to her body, the neckline plunging dangerously low. The second he entered, her eyes lit up with that familiar, greedy hunger.
She rose slowly, hips swaying in exaggerated seduction, and glided toward him. Before he could speak, she pressed herself flush against his chest, her arms snaking around his neck like vines. Her fingers immediately began roaming — greedy, possessive strokes over his shoulders, down his chest, slipping beneath the open collar of his shirt as if she owned every inch of him.
