"Fine. Lift your legs—I need these off," Kael said, his voice a mix of command and mischief, holding the lacy panties that barely clung to Freya's ankles.
She glared down at him, her blindfold hiding the fire in her blue eyes, then lifted one leg, then the other, with a knowing slowness, her toned thighs flexing under the stockings' silk.
Kael tugged the panties free of her ankles, the fabric warm in his hand, their faint floral scent mingling with her natural musk.
NoNoNoNoNoNo, don't do it. Don't you fucking dare.
His mind screamed, a chorus of restraint battling his impulses.
But curiosity—or perversion—won, and he brought the panties to his nose, inhaling deeply, a quick, guilty thrill rushing through him before he stuffed them into his pockets, to return it back to her later.
"You're a fucking disgusting pervert," his inner voice sneered, sharp and judgmental, but he shoved it down, refocusing on Freya.
