The penthouse was quiet, with only the faint sound of the city coming from outside. Arman was busy, typing something quickly on his laptop at the glass desk.

"Doll. Come here, sit down," Arman said, his voice a low rumble, instantly commanding but softened just for you.

He patted the strong muscle of his thigh, his eyes—usually so sharp and focused—now warm and relaxed as he finally looked up.