He watched from the velvety shadows of the garden, the humid summer air clinging to his skin like a second suit. Inside the glow of the window, she was a masterpiece of taunting lace and sheer silk. She moved with a deliberate, swaying grace, her skimpy nighty, less of a garment and more of a dare. He saw the soft, rounded curve of her hips and the dark, tantalizing shadows of her nipples through the fabric.

She knew. He was certain of it. Every time she mentioned her unlocked doors with that feline tilt of her head, or let her gaze linger a second too long over a drink, she was handing him the key.

Tonight, the game ended. Or rather, it truly began.

The sound of the shattering ceramic pot outside was the starting gun. When she stepped onto the patio, bathed in moonlight and curiosity, he moved. He was a shadow come to life, wrapping a powerful arm around her waist and pressing his palm over her mouth, and his lips to her neck. She tasted of salt and summer wine. He pressed her back against his chest, let her feel the hard, frantic thrum of his heart and the undeniable proof of his desire against her spine.

“Don’t look,” he hissed into her ear, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.

He marched her toward the bedroom, a room he knew by heart from a dozen parties, though it looked different now, draped in the thrill of the illicit. He worked with a feverish, focused energy. Soft silk rope bound her wrists to the headboard, a blindfold plunged her into a world of pure sensation. The scarf gag muffled her protests into soft, panicked whimpers that only fuelled his fire.

He stepped back for a moment, his chest heaving. With her eyes covered, he finally turned on the lamp. The light spilled over her like honey. She was beautiful, she had a body built for sin. A chaotic arrangement of tanned skin, dark silk, and defiant spirit.

He needed to steady his hands. He crossed to her bedside bar, pouring a finger of bourbon, the amber liquid burning as it went down. On his way back, he delivered a sharp, stinging slap to her rear. The crack echoed in the quiet room, followed by her muffled yelp. She thrashed, her petite frame straining against the ropes, but the movement only served to bloom a damp, tell-tale heat between her thighs.