Sophia Sullivan finally allowed herself to relax.
She couldn't help her curiosity.
"Mr. Sullivan, how do you know how to do this?"
His technique was professional.
The pressure was just right, each movement precise.
"I learned a bit when my grandmother was in the nursing home and often unwell."
Ethan Sullivan's tone was matter-of-fact.
As if this were the most ordinary thing in the world.
"Aside from her, I've never done this for anyone else."
"If the pressure is too much, Miss Sullivan, you can say so."
"This is perfect."
Sophia's response was soft.
She wanted to compliment his skill.
But remembering he was the reason for her tension, she simply enjoyed it without guilt.
Her nerves gradually unwound.
She turned her attention back to the auction stage.
Bids for the current item were trickling in.
But the increments were small, almost hesitant.
Just as Sophia began analyzing the pattern, a tingling sensation crept up her spine.
What started as soothing pressure shifted.
Through the thin fabric of her dress, she felt the broad span of his hand.
His fingers circled the curve of her waist, kneading gently.
The faint roughness of his fingertips traced deliberate paths.
Each press was like a wave—deep, then shallow.
Sophia's back straightened slightly.
Her gaze remained fixed ahead, but her fingers curled imperceptibly.
Ethan was skilled.
But his skill carried something else entirely.
His long fingers moved with deliberate slowness.
A service that felt like possession.
Though the rows behind them were empty, the front sections buzzed with activity.
Anyone could walk by at any moment.
And see the untouchable Mr. Sullivan massaging her waist.
Again and again, like the ebb and flow of tides.
"Does this feel alright?"
His low voice sent a shiver through her.
His thumb pressed against the base of her spine.
The lighting in their section flickered.
Darkness had a way of erasing boundaries.
"Ethan—"
Before she could protest, the entire hall plunged into blackness.
Complete and utter dark.
Ethan's hand steadied her waist.
When his lips found hers, the heat was staggering.
"Miss Sullivan, I'm here."
His breath melted against her mouth.
The dark amplified every sensation.
They kissed where no one could see.
Reckless and electric.
The faint scent of cedar wrapped around them.
His arm tightened around her, deepening the kiss.
Seconds later, the lights flared back to life.
A staff member hurried to apologize.
"The storm caused a power fluctuation. Backup generators are now active."
For others, the brief darkness meant nothing.
When the lights returned, both were seated properly again.
A trace of blood marked Ethan's lower lip.
The mole on his throat stood out starkly.
Sophia's fingertips still burned from the heat of his skin.
Yet now, they were the picture of composure.
As if the intimacy had never happened.
But they both knew.
This was flirting with danger.
The most thrilling kind.