Fred's POV
Her soft body in my hands stirred something—something primal, something hungry.
I clenched my fingers into a fist and drew back.
If I touched her now, I would not stop.
Not tonight.
And not until every inch of her belonged to me.
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself.
It was not pity.
I do not do pity.
It was something else—something harder to name. Maybe I just did not want to be used.
She thought she was being subtle, but her emotions were easy to read.
In the morning, she had faced me with that same fire in her eyes, challenging every rule I laid down.
So why had she changed her mind?
Why come here?
Why step into the lion's den?
I had sensed her hovering outside my door for nearly an hour. Fear, hesitation, determination—all bleeding from her like a silent cry.
Then she entered. Climbed onto my bed like an offering.
Legs folded, posture tense. Ready, but not surrendered.
It was suspicious.
She had not come to please me.
She came to outplay me.
