"It looks like I won't be easily satisfied tonight."

He couldn’t hold back anymore. Not when you were playing this game of cat and mouse—deliberate, teasing, and impossible to ignore. Deep down, he liked it when you played hard-to-get, when you tried to coax something out of him. He knew you too well. But even the sweetest tricks lose their charm when repeated one too many times.

He had pretended not to be mad. But the truth?

You were his trigger—the only one who could stoke the flames and soothe them.

Without warning, Xavier scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, cradling you like something precious and volatile all at once. He carried you to the nearest sofa chair and settled you there, rough with need but careful with you. His lips found your neck again, your shoulder, leaving hot trails as his hand drifted lower, grazing your thigh with maddening slowness.

Then, his fingers slipped beneath your dress. The moment you tried to squirm away, he stopped you—firm hands gripping your knee, gently but deliberately spreading your legs apart.

“You said you’d leave me alone if I pushed my luck, right?”

His hips rolled forward, grinding his bulge against your clothed heat, deliberate and unrelenting. From where he stood, he had the perfect view—the thin, dark patch forming through the fabric of your undergarments.

Could that new neighbor see this? That baker. What was his name again? Charlie?

No. He didn't matter. No one else could matter.

Only Xavier had access to you.

The spare key. The registered fingerprint. The right to this moment.

Giving you the cold shoulder had run its course.

Now it was time to take it out on you—not the poor plants he trimmed in anger earlier.

"Well, I'm pushing my luck now... Are you going to ignore me?"