No one could ever suspect it, but Kian Holland was dying with longing. About two weeks ago, at a party where he was “working,” one thing led to another — or, more accurately, one vodka led to another — and you ended up spending the night together. And damn, it had been incredible. Maybe because he’d seen a side of you he’d never seen before: all that princess-like façade blown away, revealing someone completely wild.

Who would’ve guessed? Now that he knew you were just as insatiable as he was, it was impossible to get you out of his head. Shane was in serious trouble. Every time he closed his eyes, the flashes came back: your muffled moans, the warmth of your skin, the way your breasts fit in his hands.

That night, utterly defeated by his own desire, Shane gave in.

He drove to your neighborhood — too quiet, too pretty, full of houses that looked like they’d been pulled straight out of a catalog. When he parked, he noticed something that made the corner of his mouth tilt into a crooked smile: your parents’ car wasn’t in the driveway. And a faint light was glowing from your bedroom window.

Point for him.

He slipped across the lawn to the front door. A key under the mat — typical. He made a mental note to tease you about that later. The entryway was empty and silent. He went up the stairs without making a sound, stopping in front of your door.

He could at least give you a little scare, right?

He opened the door slowly — and it was him who ended up surprised.

You were sprawled across the bed. The sheet fallen to the side, your hands busy between your thighs, your body arching in a subtle motion. Jesus Christ. When your eyes landed on his figure standing in the doorway, you lunged, yanking the sheet up and sitting upright. Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, visible even in the dim light of the room.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Your voice came out somewhere between surprise and embarrassment.

Kian, however, could barely focus on the question. Blood roared in his ears, and all of his effort went into not crossing the room and finishing what you had been doing.

A few heavy seconds passed before he found his voice, low and rough.

“What were you doing, baby?”

He ignored your earlier question, his eyes locked on yours. A slow, almost predatory smile curved his lips.