
The newspaper rustled as he folded it shut with deliberate slowness. The sound made her flinch. "Kneel," he said, his voice low and rough like gravel under tires. Not a request. Never a request.
Her knees hit the hardwood floor before her brain registered the movement. The coolness of the wood seeped through her leggings as she settled near his feet, close enough to smell the bergamot from his aftershave mixing with the cardamom from his tea. Her pulse thundered in her ears.












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