Smoke and Silk💦💦

The scent of vanilla and danger lingered in the air. Celeste leaned against the kitchen counter, the cold marble a stark contrast to the heat curling along her spine. Her silk shorts rode high, teasing the space between innocence and provocation. She knew he was watching—his gaze, molten and unrelenting, dragged across the curve of her hips like a whisper of fire.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she murmured, tracing a lazy fingertip along the edge of the counter.

A low chuckle filled the room, followed by the measured click of boots against tile. “You knew I would,” he replied.

She bit her lip, suppressing a smirk. She had played this game before, but tonight felt different. The air crackled, thick with something electric, something untamed. He came closer, his presence a shadow against her exposed skin.

“You dress like this when you’re alone?” His voice was silk and smoke, rich with unspoken promises.

Celeste turned her head just enough to catch the reflection of his smirk in the glossy cabinet. “Only when I’m expecting company.”

His fingers brushed the small of her back, featherlight but possessive. “You’re playing with fire, Celeste.”

“And you’re the one who likes to get burned.”

The words barely left her lips before she felt his breath at her nape, warm and deliberate. He smelled like danger—like midnight drives and unsolved mysteries, like sin wrapped in a well-cut suit.

“You always taste like trouble,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of her ear.

She shivered, but not from fear. “Then take a bite.”

His laughter was dark, reverberating through her bones, and when he spun her around, pressing her back against the counter, she knew she had won. Or maybe lost.

Either way, the night was just beginning.