The knife slipped again, this time barely missing my fingertips as pleasure coiled tighter, a relentless crescendo building beneath Adrien's merciless fingers. He worked them deeper, his thumb brushing just there, and I muffled a gasp against the back of my own hand.
"Look at your hands." His voice dropped lower than before—like smoke wrapped in silk. "They're shaking."
"They wouldn't be," I panted under my breath through gritted teeth "if you weren't doing… this."
"Careful, darling," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "You don't want to cut yourself."
Across the kitchen, Aria's voice rose in playful exasperation. "Cameron, if you peel that onion any slower, we'll be eating at midnight."
"She's not wrong." His fingers stroked in slow, maddening circles, his other hand pressing mine flat to the counter, pinning me in place. "But you—you're doing so well. Barely a sound."
