Chapter 3: The Ten-Minute Deadline

Chapter 3: The Ten-Minute Deadline

The world narrowed to the space between their bodies, the scent of him—clean salt and a faint, masculine musk—and the insistent hiss of the shower behind the bathroom door. Ken’s ten-minute timer. A countdown to discovery.

James’s demand hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Give me your panties.

This wasn’t the James who helped her move apartments or patiently listened to her dating woes. This was a stranger wearing her best friend’s face, a predator who had been hiding in plain sight. And Dahlia, to her own shock, felt a thrill so potent it was almost painful. This sudden, raw dominance was the spark she’d been craving, the chaotic passion she’d secretly wished for. Her dormant wild side roared to life.

A slow, challenging smile curved her lips. She wasn’t just going to give in. This was a game, and she was an equal player.

“Is that all?” she breathed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have my bra hostage, and all you want in trade is a piece of fabric?”

His eyes darkened, the hunter in him recognizing the shift. “What do you have in mind, Dahlia?” The way he said her name, stripped of its usual playful nickname, sent a fresh shiver down her spine.

She leaned in, her lips almost brushing his ear. The sound of Ken starting to hum an off-key sea shanty in the shower was a frantic, ridiculous soundtrack to their escalating dare. “You don’t just get them,” she whispered, the words a promise and a command. “You have to earn them.”

She pulled back just enough to see the question in his eyes.

“Make me come,” she said, the words tumbling out on a wave of pure, reckless adrenaline. “Right here. Right now. Before he turns off that water. Do that, and they’re yours.”

For a heartbeat, James just stared at her, his expression unreadable. She saw the flash of surprise, quickly followed by something else—a fierce, possessive fire. It was the look of a man whose challenge had not only been accepted, but welcomed.

Without a single word, he dropped to his knees.

Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat. The suddenness of the movement, the sheer submission in the posture that was paradoxically an act of total dominance, sent her reeling. He hooked his fingers into the hem of her sundress, his knuckles brushing the bare skin of her thighs. He looked up at her, his gaze locked on hers, as he slowly, deliberately, pushed the fabric up her legs.

The cool, recycled air of the suite washed over her exposed skin, raising goosebumps. He bunched the material in his fists at her hips, his head now level with her navel. He didn’t break eye contact. It felt like he was memorizing her, devouring her with his eyes before his mouth even touched her.

Then, he leaned forward and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the thin cotton of her panties, right over her core.

A strangled gasp escaped her. The damp heat of his breath through the fabric was an exquisite torture, a direct assault on the thrumming, needy flesh beneath. He nudged her legs apart with his shoulders, a silent, undeniable order. She complied instantly, bracing her hands against the cool wood of the door behind her to keep from collapsing.

The shower water was a steady roar. Ken had moved on to a surprisingly tuneless rendition of a pop song. Every beat of the muffled music was a second lost.

James’s hands slid around to cup her bottom, pulling her flush against his face. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and dragged them down, not all the way, just enough. And then his mouth was on her.

Dahlia’s world dissolved into pure, shocking sensation.

This was no fumbling, hesitant exploration. This was a targeted, masterful assault. His tongue was clever, his mouth hot and demanding. He moved with a devastating confidence, a knowledge that defied all logic. It was as if he’d been studying a map of her body for years, and was only now revealing that he had it memorized. Every flick, every swirl, every change in pressure was perfectly calculated to drive her higher, faster.

He knew. How could he possibly know? The quiet, observant James… had he been watching her all this time? Truly watching? The thought was intoxicating.

A desperate moan tore from her throat, and she slapped a hand over her own mouth, her eyes wide with panic and pleasure. The shower was still running. She could hear Ken scrubbing away, completely oblivious.

James’s fingers dug into her flesh, holding her steady as she began to tremble. He shifted his attention, finding the one spot that sent a bolt of white-hot lightning straight through her. Her back arched, her knuckles white where she gripped the door. She was close. So close. It was happening too fast, a frantic, desperate climb toward an explosive peak.

Suddenly, the music from the shower stopped. The sound of the water changed, faltering as Ken reached for the tap.

No, no, no…

The panic spurred her on. James must have heard it too, because his pace became relentless, merciless. He gave her no room to breathe, no chance to think, driving her toward the edge with a single-minded focus. He was going to meet her challenge. He was going to win his prize.

The water shut off with a final groan of the pipes. The sudden silence was deafening.

In that single, heart-stopping moment of quiet, it happened.

Her climax ripped through her, a silent scream of sensation. Her vision blurred, her entire body clenching in a shattering, all-consuming release. James pressed his face firmly against her, his hand clamping over her mouth to muffle the sob of ecstasy that escaped her. Her body shuddered violently against him, waves of aftershock rolling through her limbs.

In the bathroom, the shower door slid open.

James pulled back, his breathing heavy, his lips slick. A look of dark triumph flashed in his eyes. He didn't smile. He simply reached down and slid her soaked panties the rest of the way down her legs. He stood up, coiling the small piece of lace in his fist.

He leaned in one last time, his lips brushing her ear. “Payment received,” he murmured.

And then he was gone, moving silently to his side of the suite just as Ken strolled into the main room, a towel slung low on his hips, rubbing another towel over his damp hair.

“Whoa, DD, you okay?” Ken asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. And you’re all flushed.”

Dahlia leaned against the door, her legs trembling, her body still humming with the aftershocks of a frantic, stolen pleasure. She was commando under her sundress, James was across the room, and her bra was still in his pocket.

She met James’s gaze over Ken’s blissfully unaware head. He held her stare for a long moment, a silent acknowledgment of the new, dangerous secret that now pulsed between them.

“Just… a little dizzy,” she managed to say, her voice shaky. “Must have stood up too fast.”