Elena Carter’s POV

The invitation came in the form of a single text.

8 p.m.

My penthouse.

No panties.

That was it.

No please. No explanation.

Just a command that made my thighs clench and my breath hitch as I reread it for the tenth time.

By 7:59 p.m., I was standing outside the sleek, black door on the 45th floor of Wolfe Tower, heart pounding beneath the soft silk of my dress. No panties, just like he said. My n*ppl*s already tight, my skin already flushed with ...