Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 59827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
She made a sound, half gasp, half sigh, that went straight to his head.
He took his time with her, worshiping every inch of skin he uncovered, every gasp he drew from her lips, every trembling sigh. He was patient when she needed him to be, demanding when she wanted him to be, reverent through it all.
And when she finally shattered in his arms, crying out something that sounded like his name but wasn’t quite right, he filed that detail away to tease her about later and followed her over that edge, both of them clinging to each other like they’d never let go.
LATER, MUCH LATER, they lay tangled together in the dark, both breathing hard, both overwhelmed by what they’d just shared.
Evianne’s head was on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin, and Veil was trying to process the fact that this was his life now.
“Veil?” Her voice was soft in the darkness.
“Mmm?”
“I...”
He watched her lips move with interest. It seemed as if she wanted to say his name?
“What is it, darling?”
The endearment caught her off guard, her cheeks turning pink once again. “I just...wanted to say your name.”
“I’d like to hear you say it, too,” he said solemnly.
And so her lips moved once again, and finally—
“Vi...”
“You can do it,” he encouraged her.
“Virile—”
Silence.
Veil stared at her.
She stared back, mortified.
Did he just hear her say—
A gasp suddenly spilled past her lips, and his lips curved as she buried her face in his chest.
“I didn’t mean to say that, honest!”
She struggled at first when he tried to make her look at him, but her gaze eventually lifted to his, and he couldn’t help chuckling at the look on her face.
“It’s fine, darling,” he said soothingly, and then he waited for her body to gradually relax before adding, “You were just speaking the truth—”
His wife could only gasp as he rolled her to her back in an instant.
“And I’m always more than willing to prove it, too.”
She choked back a laugh, but this soon turned into a little whimper as he suited action to words.
Virile, indeed.
FOCUS ON THE LEATHER, not the hands.
Krizette adjusted the angle of her camera, but her gaze kept drifting back to where it shouldn’t.
Long fingers that moved with unhurried precision. The needle piercing through vegan leather in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. In, pull, tighten. In, pull, tighten. Each stitch deliberately placed, the thread drawn taut with just the right amount of tension.
This was supposed to be R&D documentation. Two months into her job at Young Leather Company, and Krizette had filmed dozens of these sessions. She knew the drill. Capture the process. Note the techniques. Archive for future reference.
Simple.
Except nothing about Arkane Young was simple.
Society gossips loved to tag him as one of San Antonio’s most elusive billionaires, and she finally understood why. Benedict Young—the brother after Lucius—was impossible to ignore. The media couldn’t get enough of his golden otherworldliness, that ethereal magnetism that made women lose their minds in his presence.
But Arkane?
He was the shadow you didn’t notice until you did. And then you couldn’t look away.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. Features that were all sharp angles and brooding intensity. The old-timers at the company liked to whisper that he was the spitting image of his late father—the same dangerous beauty, the same commanding height, the same air of coiled stillness that made you feel like prey even when he wasn’t looking at you.
He never sought the spotlight. Never demanded attention the way his brothers did just by existing. His strategy, Krizette had come to realize, wasn’t intimidation or charm.
It was absence.
You couldn’t compete with someone who simply wasn’t there.
And maybe that was why she couldn’t stop watching him now, in one of those rare moments when he was present. His focus was absolute, his entire being consumed by the work beneath his hands. He turned the leather, examining a seam that looked flawless to her untrained eye but apparently required additional attention.
What would it feel like, she couldn’t help wondering, to have that intensity turned on her, and—
An impatient order from her boss interrupted Krizette’s thoughts, and she forced her attention back to the camera’s viewfinder. The rest of their team was already packing up around her, tripods folding, equipment cases clicking shut. The session was ending, which meant her chance was ending too.
Two months of working here, and she had yet to exchange more than a handful of words with the man who signed her paychecks. He wasn’t cold, exactly. Just...contained. Present but unreachable.
But there were moments. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it rare kind. Moments where one could catch a slight curve to his lips when someone made an unexpectedly clever observation or a glint in those dark eyes that hinted at depths he kept carefully hidden.
Arkane was still bent over his work, and Krizette’s heart was hammering because maybe—just maybe, if she could just work up the nerve to—