Phei sat on the wide windowsill for what felt like ten minutes but was probably closer to twelve—long enough for the garden lights to shift from cool silver to warr amber as the estate’s automated system adjusted for the deepening night.
The view was hypnotic with manicured hedges glowing like velvet under uplighting, reflecting pools rippling with faint moonlight, the distant fountain sending up thin silver threads that caught the air like liquid starlight.
He didn’t move. Didn’t fidget.
Just breathed, slow and steady, letting the house settle around him.
Then he felt her presence.
Before the soft shuffle of wool slippers on marble reached his ears, before the faint rustle of terry cloth or the whisper of damp skin, he felt her.
A shift in the air—warr, heavier, scented with shower steam, crushed gardenia, and the sharp, intimate bite of gin on her breath.
The room exhaled slowly, like a woman arching her back.
Elena stepped into the living area while Phei’s whole presence reacted on her movents.
She stopped just inside the threshold, barefoot, towel-wrapped from the upper swells of her breasts to the very tops of her thighs.
White terry cloth knotted loosely above her chest, the fabric clinging where it was still damp, molding to every curve it pretended to hide.
Water droplets slid from the nape of her neck, traced lazy, glistening paths over sharp collarbones, then dipped into the shadowed valley between breasts that were—gods—modest in size but devastating in shape of high, full, perfectly rounded, the upper curves glistening wetly, nipples already dark and stiff, pressing visibly through the thin, clinging towel like they were begging to be touched.
Her hair was hidden beneath a second towel twisted into a turban, but stray dark tendrils escaped—wet, curling against the nape of her neck and along her temples, framing a face flushed from heat and sothing far more dangerous.
She looked like she’d stepped straight out of the shower and decided that clothes were an insult to the night.
She sighed—soft, amused, throaty.
"He’s really sothing, isn’t he?" she murmured as if she wasn’t talking about him, voice low and liquid. "Daring to sneak into this place. Straight into my room."
Phei didn’t turn. Kept his gaze on the gardens, though every nerve was locked on her.
"Says the shaless one who invited in the middle of the night," he replied, voice low, steady, edged with hunger, "knowing I wouldn’t say no. And add to that the fact your room is just one startled cry away from reaching your parents. I wonder who’s more daring between us two."
She laughed—
Elena moved to the sectional—sat a careful distance away, legs crossed at the knee, towel riding up deliberately to expose the smooth, toned length of thigh all the way to the shadowed crease where leg t hip.
"I’d hoped for a disappointnt," she said, voice softer, huskier now. "Thought maybe you weren’t as daring as you are hot. Turns out I can’t expect less from the oh-so-mightyPhei."
He finally glanced over his shoulder—half-smile tugging his lips, eyes darkening as they dragged over her.
"Is that disappointnt or bubbling excitent talking? Because you look like you’re about to burst from either."
She leaned back slightly, towel shifting, revealing another deliberate inch of thigh, the shadowed hint of what waited higher if he dared to look there or co closer and touch—smooth, bare, already flushed with heat.
"Oh, not disappointed at all."Her eyes glead, pupils blown wide. "I wanted to make sure—if I am about to let you into my life, you’re exactly as you looked; soone who would he go against all the world when the ti was right."
Phei chuckled in a low but soft, the softest sound scraping his throat.
"Yes. I’m soone you can bet on." He turned fully now, leaning one shoulder against the window fra, letting her see the thick outline already straining against his jeans. "But aren’t you counting your chickens way too soon before they hatch? We’re not that close. We’re not anything to each other, are we?"
Elena laughed again—brighter, genuine, but edged with sothing raw.
"Says the one who sneaked into my room without even a second thought. Why did you do it if we’re nothing to each other? Bravado, or...?"
He finished for her, voice dropping to gravel.
"Maybe you just wanted to make sure I am soone who’d burn your world down just from being associated with . And this is not just a one-ti thing."
She shrugged—small, elegant motion that made the towel slip half an inch lower, the knot loosening dangerously, the upper curves of her breasts now fully exposed to the moonlight, nipples tight and dark, begging.
"It’s definitely not a one-ti thing. And if you thought it would be, I know you wouldn’t have shown up."
Phei’s smile sharpened, predatory.
"You’re not at all the sa girl who walked through the garden when I first visited."
"I’m exactly that girl," she said quietly, voice trembling with want. "But where there used to be awe back then—when you first ca back—today it’s been replaced by... illicit fantasies. Possibilities. Of what you could possibly do to ."
She uncrossed her legs, recrossed them the other way—slow—thighs brushing together with a soft, deliberate whisper of skin on skin calling his eyes more to him.
"Call it a lamb that actually wants to be cornered by the predator. Except in this case it’s not a lamb and a lion. It’s ... and the impossible dragon as you’re called."
A beat of silence stretched—thick, electric, heavy with the scent of her arousal mingling with gardenia.
Then she spoke again, softer, almost pleading. "Could you turn for , Phei? I don’t know if this works, but it was the most effective thing I could think of."
Phei—being Phei, a horny, lustful young dragon with zero impulse control when presented with temptation—turned.
By the gods, Elena.
Now he actually got a full view of Elena as sat there in nothing but the towel—wrapped from the upper swells of her breasts to the very tops of her thighs, white terry clinging damply where it touched skin still warm and flushed from the shower.
Droplets rolled from her collarbones, traced slow, glistening paths over the perfect, high curves of her breasts—fuller than her mother’s, modest but devastating, the kind of handful-plus that were made for Phei’s palm to burn in a handful of touch.
Nipples pressed dark and painfully tight against the fabric, visibly throbbing with each heartbeat.
The towel’s hem rode scandalously high, exposing the smooth expanse of thigh—toned, golden, dimpling softly where muscle t plushness—and the shadowed, bare cleft between them, already slick and swollen, glistening faintly in the low light.
No panties since she wsa just from the shower. Just bare, golden skin, the faintest sheen of moisture still clinging from the shower. The motion was casual. Lethal.
Just her—hot, wet and a tempting succubus.
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