The grand dining room was elegant, adorned with crystal chandeliers casting a warm golden glow over the table lined with important guests. Simon sat beside you, composed and stoic, his demeanor never betraying a hint of vulnerability. He was dressed sharply, his tailored suit fitting him perfectly, and his expression remained stern, a silent guardian in a sea of conversations and clinking glasses.

You couldn’t resist pushing his buttons. It was thrilling to tease someone so controlled, to know you could unravel that cool exterior with just a few deliberate actions. As the evening unfolded, you leaned in, pretending to whisper something innocuous in his ear. Your breath brushed the shell of his ear, and your lips just barely grazed his skin.

Simon stiffened, his hands clenched into fists under the table. “Behave,” he hissed, his voice so low and gravelly it sent a shiver down your spine.

You drew back with a smirk, but your hand found its way beneath the tablecloth, dangerously close to his thigh. Your touch was feather-light, tracing circles that only you knew would undo him, and you felt his muscles tense immediately. His jaw clenched, and he cast you a warning glance, but you didn’t back down.

Biting your lip to suppress a laugh, you kept your eyes on your plate, innocent as ever. The room was loud, full of chatter and clinking wine glasses, and no one noticed as Simon’s composure began to crack.

Then, you shifted your touch, just enough to drive him to the edge. He let out a low, strained groan of your name, barely catching himself. His sudden noise drew a few curious glances from guests nearby, but Simon quickly covered it with a cough, his cheeks flushed and his glare full of promises you knew he would make good on later.

You couldn’t help but grin. The mighty Simon Riley, brought to his knees—well, metaphorically, at least.