Amara stood.
Her legs were steady, but the moment she took his hand, she felt the power shift like an invisible chain threading between them. Leon's grip was firm—not hard, not demanding. Just certain. Like he had always known she would take it.
He led her to the center of the room, where the lighting dimmed slightly above them, casting long shadows on the velvet floor.
He reached out and touched the side of her neck with his fingertips.
"You're warm," he said.
"You make me nervous."
"Good."
His hands slid to the collar of her blouse, fingers brushing the fabric as if testing her reaction. "We move on your breath, Amara. You tell me without saying a word. If I go too far, you inhale. If you want more, you exhale."
She nodded.
He leaned in, lips a whisper away from her ear. "And if you want me to stop completely, you say the word: red."
She swallowed.
"Say it," he commanded softly.
"Red."
"Good girl."
Her knees almost buckled.
He kissed her neck—just once. A slow, careful burn that ignited every nerve. Then he pulled away again.
"Still nervous?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Do you want to stop?"
"No."
His hand moved to her waist, gently guiding her backward until she was against the wall. Not trapped—but placed. Positioned. Owned.
He didn't touch her again for a long moment. Just watched her. Let her stew in the tension, the wanting. The anticipation became a living thing inside her.
Then finally, he cupped her jaw.
"Kiss me," he said.
She did.
Slow. Cautious. Testing.
But Leon wasn't a man who tested.
His mouth took control, deepening the kiss until she had no thoughts left—only feeling. His hand pressed against the small of her back, drawing her closer, lips teasing hers open, tongue sliding in with devastating precision. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't frantic.
It was a claim.
She moaned softly, and he caught it with his mouth.
When they broke apart, her chest was heaving. Her lipstick smeared. His eyes were wild and dark.
"You still don't know what you've agreed to," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"Then teach me."
That made something flare in his expression. A sharpness.
"I will," he promised.
"But not tonight."
Her brows furrowed.
"I told you," he said, stepping back, adjusting his sleeves. "I don't rush."
Amara's skin tingled, arousal still humming in her blood like a current.
"You're leaving me like this?" she asked, breathless.
He smirked. "You'll survive."
She straightened her blouse, suddenly aware of how wet she was, how warm.
"And tomorrow?" she asked.
"Tomorrow," he said, walking toward the elevator, "we work."