Elena Carter’s POV
The invitation came in the form of a single text.
8 p.m.
My penthouse.
No panties.
That was it.
No please. No explanation.
Just a command that made my thighs clench and my breath hitch as I reread it for the tenth time.
By 7:59 p.m., I was standing outside the sleek, black door on the 45th floor of Wolfe Tower, heart pounding beneath the soft silk of my dress. No panties, just like he said. My n*ppl*s already tight, my skin already flushed with anticipation.
The door opened before I could knock.
Alexander stood there in a black shirt—no tie, sleeves rolled up—his hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hand through it while thinking dangerous thoughts.
Thoughts about me.
“You’re early,” he said, voice low, eyes trailing down my body.
“You said eight.
