After that wild f**k against the glass, Zara told herself it was over. One mistake. Two mistakes. Never again.
She lasted three days.
On the fourth night, her phone buzzed at 11:47 pm.
Unknown number: “Penthouse suite. Grand Horizon Hotel. Room 1802. Now.”
She stared at the screen, thighs already clenching. She hated how fast her body responded. Ten minutes later she was in the elevator, heart hammering, wearing a simple trench coat with nothing underneath but black lace panties and heels.
The door opened before she could knock.
Malik stood there in an unbuttoned white shirt and dark trousers, eyes dark with hunger. No hello. He grabbed her by the coat lapels and yanked her inside, kicking the door shut.
The moment it clicked, he pushed her against the wall and ripped the coat open.
