Don't Say A Word To Me

Prologue

When he entered the hotel room, she was already there. Melted into an armchair, she was looking straight at him. Smirking.

"I thought I asked you to quit that," Michael said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her smirk grew wider. Slowly, she brought the cigarette to her lips and took a deep drag, her cheeks hollowing slightly with the inhale. The tip burned brighter. As she exhaled, the smoke left her mouth in a slow, steady stream, curling lazily upward before drifting toward him. Her eyes never left his.

Slow. Deliberate. Directed.

Michael pushed the door shut behind him, the click soft but final, sealing the space. The air shifted; warmer, closer. He stood there for a moment, his hand still resting on the door as if he hadn't fully let go of the outside yet.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Not when she looked like that. Not when she knew it.

He took a step forward. Then another.

The carpet muted his steps, but she felt each one anyway, a tightening somewhere low in her stomach with every inch he closed between them.

Until he was right there.

"Kay..." he said.

A warning. Or maybe a plea.

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him through her lashes. The line of her throat exposed, the soft movement there as she swallowed. The cigarette hovered loosely between her fingers, ash already bending at the tip.

As the toes of their shoes brushed, the contact sent a thin, electric ripple up her leg, settling somewhere deep and restless. She didn't pull away.

Instead, she took another drag.

Held it.

Then let the smoke spill out slowly, closer this time, the warmth of it grazing his chin before fading.

She caught it then, a flicker at the corner of his mouth.

A smile.

Faint. Brief.

Enough.

There it is.

"You know, you shouldn't be here," Michael said, but his voice had softened, losing its edge somewhere between the words and the way he was looking at her.

"I have missed you," Kay whispered.

Her foot shifted, the toe of her shoe sliding against his, then gliding slowly up along his leg. The fabric of his jeans was rough, the movement unhurried, intentional. She felt the subtle tension in his muscle as she traced upward.

He didn't stop her.

"Put that out," Michael said, nodding toward the cigarette.

His tone was quiet, but it carried weight. The kind that didn't need repeating.

It sent something sharper through Kay. Not quite fear. Not quite excitement. Something in between, something that made her pulse jump under her skin.

She tilted her head again, studying him through the thinning smoke between them.

"Make me," she said softly.

The words slipped out easily.

Michael's jaw tightened, just slightly. His gaze dropped. First to her lips, still parted from the exhale, then to the cigarette between her fingers. Lower, to where her foot rested against him, warm now through the fabric.

She always knew exactly where to touch.

"Kay," he said again, quieter. Closer.

She leaned back further into the armchair, the leather creasing softly beneath her, molding around her body as if holding her in place. One shoulder relaxed, but her eyes stayed sharp on his.