Oscar Level Acting

Nadia froze as she felt the nightie sliding up her thighs, the cool air brushing her exposed skin.

Then something hot, firm, and unmistakably alive pressed against her lace-covered ass cheeks.

Her eyes darted back, and there it was—throbbing, veiny, and downright intimidating.

"Oh fuck."

She whispered, her breath hitching as Artis leaned in, his voice rough and desperate.

"I can't hold it anymore."

His face was a masterpiece of pent-up frustration, like a man who'd been teased one too many times at an all-you-can-eat buffet and finally snapped.

She saw it now—how his eyes had always lingered on her, the way his hands had always twitched with restraint.

'Holy shit… he's been holding back this whole time. How the fuck did I not see it? I pushed him to this. I'm the idiot who kept flaunting myself like a damn prize cow, and now he's lost it!'

Her internal monologue screeched to a halt when he growled,