Chapter 11

• Chapter 11: Trails of an Even Hotter Seduction
• Lena moves with a rhythm too deliberate to be subconscious. Every sway of her waist, every lazy roll of her hips against him, is measured and venomously slow, like she’s winding him up, like he’s a ticking toy she’s set out to snap. Her back presses into his chest — supple, molten, a living invitation — and the curves of her ass grind in slow, hypnotic waves against his clothed cock, which has long since hardened to the point of pain, straining at the seam of his pants, angry and stiff and thrumming at the touch.
• He should stop. He knows this. His fingers hover in the air, trembling, splayed like there’s something sacred in front of him — untouchable, divine — but that ass. Goddamn. That ass. Plush and hot and pushing back against him in taunting pulses that say everything her lips won’t. He groans, low and through gritted teeth, like he can somehow grit this lust away, smother it in willpower — but her body moves otherwise. She’s fucking with him. Winding him up around her hips. Her hair smells like danger, like summer sweat and some fruit-sweet shampoo that clings to her too young, too forbidden skin. She’s barely past twenty. Barely. But she moves like she’s lived through men, worn them down to bone, studied their breaking points like a sadist with a scalpel.