Xavier’s family estate was everything you'd expect: grand columns, polished marble, the scent of aged scotch and old money clinging to the air. You’d barely been dating six months, but meeting his parents felt… inevitable.
What you didn't expect?
Being told—with a perfectly polite smile from the house manager—that the only room left for the weekend was the one right next to his parents’ suite.
“I’ll behave,” Xavier had murmured in your ear the moment the door closed behind you. “Scout’s honor.”
You raised a brow. “You were never a scout.”
“Exactly.”
You should’ve known then. The man had no intention of behaving.
Now it’s 11:46 PM. The house is dark and silent, cloaked in the soft hush of midnight wealth. And you’re sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed in one of his shirts, arms crossed, trying to ignore the fact that Xavier is coming out of the ensuite in nothing but black sweatpants and a towel around his neck.
His hair is damp. His body looks like it was carved by obsession. And the smirk he shoots you? Unfair.
“Something on your mind, cariño?” he drawls, dropping the towel and climbing into bed beside you.
“Yes,” you say primly. “Your mother is literally on the other side of that wall.”
“She’s asleep,” he murmurs, leaning in. His hand grazes your thigh, slow. “And we’re grown.”
“She’s also terrifying,” you whisper, heart pounding.
Xavier lets out a quiet laugh. “She likes you.”
“She also raised a CEO who doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.”
“Oh, I know how,” he says, eyes dipping to your lips. “I just don’t want to.”
You’re about to push him away. You really are.
But then his hand slides beneath the hem of your—well, his—shirt. His fingers settle dangerously high on your thigh. And the look in his eyes is nothing short of sinful.
“Xavier—”
“I’ll be quiet,” he says, the words so unconvincing it’s laughable. “Promise.”
You blink. “You’ll be quiet? Me?”
He leans in, mouth brushing your ear.
“Make me.”
The next morning, you walk into the breakfast room with damp hair, a high neck blouse, and a face that screams I did not get enough sleep.
Xavier, on the other hand?
Perfectly tailored. Coffee in hand. Hair slicked back like he didn’t nearly kill you with pleasure in complete silence five hours ago.
His mother eyes you both from behind her newspaper.
“I trust the room wasn’t too close to ours?” she asks sweetly.
You freeze mid-sip.
Xavier just lifts his cup, cool as ever.
“Not close enough.”