Larissa's POV
The predatory gleam in Carson's eyes made my stomach flutter with something that definitely wasn't fear. I should have left right then, should have walked out and never looked back.
Instead, I found myself asking, "What exactly does that mean?"
Carson's smile widened, and I realized I'd just made a terrible mistake.
"It means we need to discuss the more intimate aspects of our arrangement." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Sit."
"I'll stand."
"Suit yourself." Carson leaned back in his chair, his gaze traveling slowly from my face down to my feet and back up again. The assessment felt physical, like hands skimming over my skin. "Since you insist on details, let's be perfectly clear about expectations."
My mouth went dry. "I don't think—"
"I'm not a gentle man, Larissa." His voice dropped to that low, dangerous register that made my knees weak. "In business or in bed. I like control. I like taking what I want, when I want it."
