Aitana's POV
The moment the words left my lips, Sebastian’s smirk deepened—slow, knowing, like he could hear the way my pulse had just stuttered. He straightened, putting just enough space between us to make my skin prickle with the absence of his warmth.
"Right this way, Girasol," he murmured, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
I cleared my throat. "I..."
He tilted his head, crimson eyes glinting. "Would you prefer little wolf? My love? Or perhaps—" His gaze dropped to my lips, just for a heartbeat. "Mine?"
Heat flooded my cheeks. Damn him.
Sebastian chuckled, clearly pleased with my reaction, and turned toward the door. He didn’t touch me, didn’t crowd me—just left the invitation hanging in the air.
I followed, if only to escape the weight of that look.
