The touch was feather-light at first—almost hesitant, like someone testing if I would stir. A fingertip circled one nipple slowly, deliberately, raising it to a tight peak despite the cool air on my damp skin. My breath caught. My body woke faster than my mind could keep up.
I wasn't dreaming.
My eyes snapped open.
The room was dark, only a faint silver glow from the hallway light slipping under the door. Shadows pooled across the walls. And there, kneeling at the edge of the bed, was a silhouette I knew too well.
Victor.
His face was half in shadow, but those eyes—sharp, unblinking—locked onto mine the second I moved. No surprise. No guilt. Just that same chilling calm from downstairs.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"What the hell are you doing?" The words came hoarse, barely a whisper. I yanked the sheet up to cover myself, but it was too late—he had already seen everything. Touched everything.
He didn't pull away.
