Her skirt was regulation length in theory. In practice, it barely reached her inner thighs.
When she hopped up onto her mother's desk in the guise of giving him space—legs swinging, posture deliberately casual—it rode up further. Enough to catch another glimpse: the edge of plain white cotton panties, the soft inner curve of her thighs, the way her ass pressed and spread against the polished wood like it was personally inviting him to bend her over right there.
She spread her legs slightly.
Showing me what I am pushing away.
Bold.Calculated. Exactly the kind of move that had probably worked on a hundred lesser men who didn't have a dragon in their blood and a mother-in-law they'd just fucked senseless.
"Elena."
The Madam's voice cut through the room like a blade through silk.
Her daughter's legs snapped closed. Her expression flickered—guilt, annoyance, something else—before settling into innocent confusion so fake it could've won an Oscar.
"Yes, Mom?"
"Off the desk. Now."
