Aria walked further into the room.
Her eyes never left Ivan's bare chest. They traced the lines of muscle, the way his skin still carried the damp chill of the shower.
Lust and longing were unmistakable in her gaze, bare and unhidden, and she made no effort to disguise either of them.
For a brief second, Ivan thought she might close the distance between them. The way she paused, the way her fingers twitched at her side, it almost looked like she was going to reach for him, to touch, to feel, to claim without asking.
The idea made something cold twist in his stomach.
But she didn't move. She simply stood there, staring, as if waiting for him to acknowledge what she wanted.
Ivan said nothing.
He waited, impatience tightening his jaw, his posture rigid. Whatever she had come to say, he wanted it said quickly so she could leave.
The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable, thick enough that even Aria seemed to feel it.
