Michael's POV
I slouched against the soft leather of my Manhattan penthouse couch, my body tense with frustration as Skye traced her tongue along my throat in slow, calculated movements. She was trying to awaken something in me that simply wasn't there. I shut my eyes, desperately waiting for any spark of desire to ignite.
Nothing came. Just hollow emptiness.
Her delicate fingers wandered across my chest, sliding over the expensive fabric of my shirt while she explored the firm muscles underneath. She positioned herself over me, her body pressed against mine with clear intent. Her mouth traveled downward, leaving a trail of kisses as she reached for the buttons of my shirt.
I caught her wrists, halting her progress.
"Skye, I'm sorry." The apology felt bitter on my tongue. I already regretted asking her to come over tonight. "This isn't happening today."
