The dining room gleamed under the chandelier, silver and crystal reflecting the dim candlelight. Liza sat beside Julian, trying to focus on the sparkling array of plates and wine glasses, but her attention was entirely drawn to him—the way his hand rested lightly on the table, the curve of his jaw, the barely perceptible way his eyes flicked to hers.
Julian's guest, Marcus, was a shark in a tailored suit, his smile polite but sharp. He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. "Your wife seems… distracted, Julian," he said casually, his eyes lingering on her longer than necessary.
Julian didn't look at her. His voice was calm, low, and lethal in its control. "She's adjusting to being where she belongs," he said, a subtle heat in his tone that no one else would notice.
Under the table, Julian's fingers brushed hers lightly. The touch was feather-light, almost teasing, yet it carried a quiet ownership. Liza's stomach knotted. Her pulse raced, a low hum of desire and danger coiling through her.
"You like to remind me who's in charge, don't you?" she whispered just for him, lips barely moving.
A subtle flex of his fingers was his answer, and she felt a small gasp escape her throat. The thrill of secrecy, of being claimed under the eyes of the world, made her ache in ways that were entirely consuming.
"You need to learn restraint," he murmured back, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "But I enjoy watching you squirm."
Liza pressed her thighs together beneath the table, trying to steady her shaking hands. Every subtle stroke of his fingers was like fire tracing her nerves. Marcus's attention on her was a distant echo, irrelevant. Only Julian existed in that room, the quiet, dominant presence that had her both terrified and yearning.