Then, as if the universe had heard his silent plea, the window lowered just enough. And in that fleeting moment, he saw her. Emerald, drenched in sweat, black hair clinging to her flushed cheeks, her lips slightly parted in breathless pleasure.
It was intoxicating. Devastating. A vision so unbearably erotic that even his imagination could never have done it justice. Then—just as quickly—the window slid shut, cutting him off. But it was too late. The image was already burned into his mind, seared into his very being.
Only when he felt a sharp heat between his fingers did he realize—the cigarette had burned down to the filter. He flicked it away, but the sting on his skin was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. An hour later, the Audi's door finally opened.
Alaric stepped out, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a deep red lipstick print staining the fabric. His tie hung loosely at his sides, a smug satisfaction lingering in his eyes.
