Oliver's POV
"Red," she whispered.
That one word was supposed to be a safety net, but to my wolf, it sounded like a challenge. I stood up from the armchair, the leather creaking under my weight.
I was burning up inside. Only an hour ago, I had offered her tea and a quiet life in the packhouse. I had offered her my heart, and she had looked at me with boredom. But now, standing before the mask, she was breathless. She was shivering with a dark kind of excitement.
"Red," I repeated, nodding. "Remember it, Aurora. If I go past your limit, you say it."
She nodded, clearly excited.
I stepped toward her, my heavy boots thudding on the carpet. I reached out and gripped the hem of that high-neck sweater—the one she wore to hide the marks I'd left last night.
"Undress," I commanded. My voice was cold and sharp, leaving no room for argument.
