The next visit, she wore her habit but left the top button of her blouse undone beneath it—a tiny rebellion no one else would notice.
Marcus noticed immediately. His gaze dropped to the sliver of pale skin at her throat.
“Brave girl,” he praised. “Come closer.”
She did. The table separated them, but when she sat, he leaned in until she could smell him—soap, musk, and something wild.
“Touch yourself for me,” he whispered. “Right here. Slip your hand under your habit and rub that needy c**t while I watch.”
Claire’s breath hitched. “The guard—”
“Won’t be back for twenty minutes. I made sure.”
Her hand trembled as it disappeared beneath the black fabric. She was already soaked. The moment her fingers brushed her swollen folds, a soft whimper escaped her lips.
Marcus’s eyes blazed. “Goo
