Sultry Rhythms

LEONARDO ANNISON

Oliver's fingers twisted into the fabric of my shirt, anchoring me to him as if he knew I was one breath away from pulling back. The music slowed, a sultry rhythm that matched the way his body moved against mine—too close, too deliberate. His pulse thrummed beneath my palm where it rested against his waist, a rapid staccato that betrayed the confidence in his smirk.

This is dangerous.

Not just the way he looked at me—like I was something to be unraveled—but the fact that he was here, in a room full of people who would use him against me without hesitation. My family's enemies didn't play fair. They didn't hesitate. And Oliver? He was a flashing neon sign of vulnerability, bright and impossible to ignore.