◆◆◆ Chapter 17 ◆◆◆
~ Kris Hunter ~
The night felt like a dream I hadn’t dared to imagine.
No velvet cushion. No spotlight. No whispered commands or counted strokes. No “kneel” or “thank you, Sir” or the sharp crack of leather against skin.
Just dinner in a candlelit corner of Le Ciel with a man who looked at me like I was the only thing worth seeing in a room full of glittering people.
Niklaus laughed at my jokes — low, genuine, surprised, like he hadn’t laughed in years. Asked about my favorite books — listened intently when I rambled about Jane Eyre and how I’d always loved the quiet rebellion in Jane’s refusal to be anyone’s mistress.
Refilled my wine without making it feel like an order, just poured and watched the liquid catch the candlelight in his glass before sliding it towar
