The door shut behind them with a soft, definitive click, sealing out the distant hum of the city and plunging them into the Rolls' opulent cocoon—dim golden lights pulsing like a heartbeat along the ceiling, the plush leather seats cradling their bodies in sinful warmth, the air thick with the scent of her perfume and the raw edge of anticipation.
They'd barely scraped through dessert, her fork abandoned mid-bite as her foot had inched up his calf under the table, thigh pressing insistently against his, her lips curling into that wicked bite whenever his gaze locked on hers—dark, hungry, promising she was already drenched, her arousal simmering long before the first sip of wine.
