"I know, I know… I shouldn't try such tactics with you," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "But now that we're here, I can't help but wonder… how did you figure out it was Samson?"
His words were a distraction, his movements deliberate.
Before Angel could answer, Tryson's lips brushed against her skin again—soft, teasing, coaxing. He trailed kisses along her jaw, then down to her neck, his touch warm and insistent.
Angel tried to resist, her mind screaming at her to stay firm, to not fall for his games, but the way his lips moved, the way he whispered against her skin—it was breaking down her resolve.
The moment his lips grazed her collarbone, a breathless chuckle escaped her, betraying her attempt at keeping a stern facade.
"Oh my, Tryson, you're such a tease," she murmured, shaking her head as she tried—half-heartedly—to push him away.
