The third-floor hallway tasted like cold marble and secrets. The bass from below had shrunk to a dull, velvet heartbeat, pulsing up through the soles of my bare feet like a distant lover's breath.

The air up here was crisp, laced with chilled cedar from hidden vents and the faintest trace of jasmine drifting from somewhere deeper.

Every inhale coated my tongue with the promise of something expensive and forbidden.

Two doors. One sealed like a tomb, matte black swallowing the red glow.

The other: oak, six inches ajar, exhaling a blade of warm amber light that cut across the runner and licked the edges of my toes.

The small light carried heat, the scent of vanilla bourbon and heated skin, the soft clink of crystal somewhere inside.

I pushed.

The door sighed open on oiled hinges, releasing a sigh of warmer air that wrapped around my chest like silk. The room hit me all at once.

Immense. Vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow. One wall nothing but black glass and moonlit ocean, waves crashing thirty feet below in slow, silver explosions.

The carpet was fresh snow under my feet, so thick it swallowed every step, every heartbeat.

A single vintage brass lamp glowed low on a rosewood table, spilling thick honeyed light that pooled across the floor and dripped up the walls like molten gold.

And her.

In the center of it all.

She was dancing.

She wore a white lace robe, floor-length, sheer as breath, tied with a single satin ribbon that fluttered like a dying flame every time she moved.

Beneath it, a white lace thong so delicate the lace looked almost wet, clinging to swollen lips you could see pulsing faintly with her heartbeat. Matching bra, barely there, nipples dark and tight beneath the gossamer, rising and falling with each slow inhale.

The robe had slipped off one golden shoulder, baring the swell of her breast, the soft underside catching the lamplight like warm caramel.

Her skin smelled like coconut oil warmed by sun and skin, jasmine blooming from her pulse points, the faint salt of anticipation.

Blonde hair tumbled in thick, tousled waves down to the small of her back, ends brushing the twin dimples above an ass so round it looked sculpted by filthy prayers.

Every sway sent the robe parting wider: the carved plane of her stomach, the glint of a diamond belly ring catching the light like a wink, the soft shadow between thighs that flexed and released with every roll.

She danced to the ghost of the music drifting up through the floorboards: slow, filthy R&B slowed to half-time, bass notes thumping up through the carpet and into her hips.

Her movements were liquid sex: spine rolling like a wave, hips painting slow, obscene circles, arms overhead, fingers trailing through the air like she was pulling invisible lovers closer.

When she dropped low, thighs spreading, robe flaring like wings, the lace between her legs pulled tight, outlining every fold, every slick seam.

The air around her shimmered with heat. Her perfume thickened: vanilla bourbon, warm skin, the unmistakable musk of a woman already wet and waiting.

Every breath I took tasted like her.

I wanted her, wanted her so bad than I have ever wanted anyone after only a single glance but deep in me something protective could be felt awakening.

For some reasons, my whole being was screaming at me to approach her, be gentle, and above all wrap in in the shadows of protection all my women enjoyed!

She spun one last time, the robe flaring like a white flame, and froze mid-movement.

Her body locked, one arm still arched overhead, the other frozen at her hip.

Ice-blue eyes widened in shock, locking onto me in the dim threshold. The robe slipped another fraction, baring the full swell of her breast, the nipple stiff and dark against the lace.

Then the spell broke.

Her hands flew to clutch the robe shut, fingers trembling as she yanked the fabric together. She snatched the crystal tumbler from the side table and hurled it at my head with a sharp, furious motion.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

I ducked sideways, the glass shattering against the wall behind me in a cascade of shards that rained down with a crystalline tinkle, bourbon splashing across the carpet in a wet, amber spray, the sharp scent exploding into the air.

"You perverted creep!" she snarled, voice rising in pitch, eyes blazing.

"How dare you sneak in here like some sleazy stalker? This floor is restricted—off-limits! What, you think you can just waltz into private rooms and gawk at women? Get out before I call security and have you thrown out like the trash you are!"

She backed up a step, clutching the robe tighter, her chest heaving, the lace beneath rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her whole body was shivering, not because I was intimidating or startled her but like she'd been experiencing this before in a more abusive way.

I knew that reaction well!

Something was wrong about her!

I stayed in the shadows, hands raised, palms open. "Easy. I didn't mean to startle you. The door was open. The light was on. I thought it was another party room."

"Bullshit!" She advanced a step, eyes narrowing to slits, face flushing red.

"You expect me to believe that? Some random guy creeping around a restricted floor just 'thought' it was open to the public? You're a liar and a pervert! I saw you peeking—how long were you standing there, huh?

"Getting your cheap thrills? People like you disgust me—get the hell out or I'll scream so loud the whole mansion hears and you'll be arrested for trespassing and worse!"

She was defensive and sounded brave but the crack of fear and memory of worse could be felt in her 'courage' voice.

She was shaking now, robe slipping slightly again, her voice cracking on the last word, but her eyes burned with fire.

"This floor is RESTRICTED!" she snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass. "You're a goddamn pervert! Sneaking in here to spy on women? Get OUT!"

I stayed in the shadows just inside the door, hands raised, palms open.

The other lamp behind her threw her silhouette into stark relief but left my face half-lit, half-hidden.

"Easy," I said, voice low, calm, amused. "Didn't mean to startle you. Door was open. Light was on. I thought it was another party room."

"Bullshit!" She clutched the blanket tighter, knuckles white. "You think you can just wander into private suites because you're some drunk frat boy with a hard-on? I'll have security drag you out by your—"

"You won't," I cut in, stepping one foot into the light. Just enough for her to see the outline of my shoulders, the cut of my jaw, the easy grin.

"Because if you scream, fifty people downstairs hear it. And then they all know the most beautiful woman in the house was dancing half-naked in a locked room. Your secret. Not mine."

I took a slow breath, kept my voice steady, low. "I apologize for invading your privacy and interrupting. It was an honest mistake."

She scoffed, clutching the robe tighter, but her eyes flicked over me in the dim light, trying to make out my features.

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