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Summary
Simon’s eyes narrow, the bastard is assessing me.
They straighten, tilting their head back slightly. “But I do adore being called pet. By you.”
I feel a flash of heat, noticing the discomfort of my corset starting to rise. My heart pounds against it.
“Pets need to be fed.” Simon steps gracefully to a table, which is a part of the room’s symmetry. They slide open a slim drawer and pick up a pair of white gloves, slipping them on.
“Stop.” I say, but I don’t care to move as I watch Simon start to approach me. Polite taps arising like the lead up to something louder.