The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight.
Elena lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, sheets twisted around her body. Sleep was impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Adrian's smirk, felt the ghost of his breath against her ear, heard that sinful question again.
Do you miss being touched?
Her thighs pressed together instinctively. Shame curled inside her, but so did heat. She couldn't stop thinking about him-about the way he'd looked at her, as if he could strip her bare without ever lifting a finger.
She groaned softly and pushed the covers away. Maybe a glass of water would cool her down. Maybe walking through the quiet halls would clear her mind.
Padding barefoot down the hallway, she wrapped her silk robe tightly around herself. The marble floor was cool against her skin as she descended the staircase and slipped into the kitchen.
The mansion was silent, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. She reached for a glass in the cupboard, her robe shifting to reveal a long stretch of her thigh. She poured water and lifted it to her lips.
"Can't sleep either?"
The glass nearly slipped from her hand. She spun, her heart leaping into her throat.
Adrian leaned casually against the doorway, shirtless this time, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The soft kitchen light carved shadows across the ridges of his chest and abdomen, every line of muscle sharp and defined.
Elena's mouth went dry.
"Adrian," she whispered, clutching the glass like a lifeline. "You scared me."
His lips curved into that familiar smirk. "Didn't mean to. I was just... thirsty." His gaze dropped deliberately to the glass in her hand, then slid lower, over the edge of her robe where it gaped slightly at her chest.
Her skin burned. She tugged the fabric tighter. "There's water here."
He didn't move toward the cupboard. Instead, he stepped closer to her. "Pour it for me?" he asked softly, his voice almost mocking.
Her hand trembled as she reached for another glass. She filled it with water, then held it out to him.
Adrian's fingers brushed hers as he took it, slow, intentional. Her pulse spiked at the touch, her breath stuttering.
"Thanks," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers as he tipped the glass back and drank. A bead of water slid down the corner of his mouth, tracing the line of his throat before disappearing beneath his chest.
Elena's gaze followed helplessly, her lips parting.
Adrian noticed. His smirk deepened. "See something you like?"
Her breath hitched. "Adrian-"
He set the glass down on the counter with a soft clink. In one smooth movement, he closed the distance between them, his body towering over hers. The counter pressed into the small of her back as he leaned down, his face inches from hers.
"You're tense," he whispered, his hand braced on the counter beside her hip. "Relax."
She shook her head, words tangled in her throat. "This isn't right."
"Doesn't feel wrong." His gaze burned into hers, then dipped to her lips. "Tell me you don't want me to touch you, Elena. Tell me, and I'll walk away."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her lips parted, but no sound came. The truth lodged in her throat, heavy and suffocating.
Adrian's eyes darkened. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hand until his fingers brushed the edge of her robe, tracing the fabric near her thigh. Not quite touching-just enough to make her tremble.
Her knees weakened. Heat pooled between her legs, her body screaming for something her mind knew she shouldn't want.
"Say it," he whispered, his voice rough now, edged with hunger.
Her lips quivered. "Adrian... we can't..."
He smiled wickedly. "You didn't say you don't want it."
His fingers ghosted higher along her thigh, the robe parting slightly under his touch. Elena gasped, clutching the counter for support.
At the last moment, he pulled away. His smirk was smug, dangerous, triumphant.
"Goodnight, Elena," he said softly, echoing his words from earlier.
And just like that, he turned and walked out, leaving her breathless, trembling, and aching.
Elena sank against the counter, her heart pounding out of control. She pressed her thighs together, desperate for relief, but it was useless.
Her stepson was dangerous. He knew exactly what he was doing.
And worse-so did she.
