Phei's hand lingered on the heavy brass lock for a beat longer than necessary, the click of it engaging echoing softly in the plush, sound-deadened space. The Hideout sealed itself shut behind them—no alarms, no notifications, no prying eyes.
Just the three of them, the low amber glow of sconces, the faint scent of aged leather and expensive whiskey, and forty-five minutes that already felt like they were burning too fast.
He turned.
Sierra was already shedding her navy blazer—fabric sliding down her arms in a slow, deliberate reveal, revealing the white blouse beneath, top three buttons already undone, the deep V exposing the black lace bra that barely contained her heavy tits.
She met his eyes without flinching—cool, challenging, the Hell Bitch Queen daring him to come and take what she was offering, nipples already stiff and visible through the thin silk.
