Phei opened the Ashford Madam's contact, thumb hovering over the keyboard for only a heartbeat.
Eira had confessed it herself earlier that evening—she was lying alone in that hotel suite right now, thighs already leaking and quivering with shameless need, torn between the humiliating ache of wanting him so desperately and the deeper humiliation of not reaching out first.
Barging in uninvited still felt like sacrilege.
Like smashing through the last fragile barrier of her pride where I could simply knock and let her choose to let me in.
He began typing something casual, something that wouldn't make her bolt—
Three pulsing dots appeared at the bottom of the screen.
She was typing first.
Phei's mouth curved into something slow and dangerous. He pocketed the phone, turned on his heel, and strode back toward the bedroom door his women had so gleefully slammed in his face just minutes earlier.
