Under the table, I felt his foot graze mine. I responded with a subtle, knowing smile, pulling back just enough to keep him wanting. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes burning into mine, his intentions clear. Yoric, still lost in the conversation, was utterly blind to the unspoken tension rising between us.
"Mr. Moran," he began, clearly trying to impress, but Clyde cut him off with a charming smile. "Mr. Lawrence, would you mind fetching a bottle of wine from my car? The plate number is five sevens. My driver will assist you."
Yoric hesitated briefly, his eagerness faltering, but the power in Clyde's voice left no room for refusal. Nodding, he excused himself, leaving the private room with the door clicking softly behind him.
The moment Yoric was gone, the atmosphere shifted. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as the tension became electric. Clyde wasted no time. He was out of his chair and beside me in an instant, his hand on my arm as he pulled me closer. His lips brushed my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
