chapter 3

When Jasmine woke up, night had already fallen. The suite was empty and silent.

She was just reaching for her phone when it started ringing.

It was the same number as last night, playing the same kind of audio.

The rustle of clothes, the filthy wet sounds of their bodies, a woman's moans.

It had just begun.

"You're moaning like that before I've even put it in. Damn, how horny are you?" Ethan's voice was hoarse.

The woman beneath him didn't care—she only moaned louder.

"Didn't you say it yourself, Ethan? I sound way better than Jasmine."

"Yes, yes—you've got the best moans ever. If Quinton hears this, he's probably gonna end up jerking off by himself!" Ethan's voice turned rougher, breathless.

Jasmine knew they were about to get down to business.

She hung up the call and touched her stomach—she was getting hungry too.

Still in her nightgown, she threw on a shirt and decided to head out in search of food.

She walked down the long hallway toward the elevator.

As she passed Winona's room, she slowed down without meaning to.

The Langley estate had decent soundproofing. soundproofing. Even through the thick door, she could still hear faint moaning—but it was nowhere near as explicit as what she'd just heard over the phone.

Unimpressed, she turned to leave. But just then, the door of the room beside her swung open.

A large hand wrapped around her waist. She was suddenly pressed against the wall in the dim hallway—right next to Winona's room.

The sounds here were a little clearer, but still not much.

The crisp scent of pinewood filled her nose. Jasmine reached out and poked the man's chest with a finger, her voice light. "Mr. Greystone, you're really bored, huh."

Quinton gave a cold laugh full of mockery. "The Arkwells have gone bankrupt, and our once high-and-mighty Ms. Arkwell has really learned to play nice now, hasn't she? Do you know what Ethan tells other women about you? Says you're dull, boring—just a pretty face with no substance."

Jasmine said nothing. She slipped one hand from his chest and unlocked her phone, pulling up a recording.

The sound was much more direct and clear than what Quinton had heard.

Then came the line. "I sound way better than Jasmine."

Quinton looked down at her face, so close now. Beautiful but cold—like a fairy untouched by worldly desires, utterly indifferent to earthly temptations.

Then, her phone slipped from her hand and hit the wooden floor with a dull thud.

The fairy's eyes tilted upward at the corners, and in that instant, her true self flickered through.

Not a fairy at all—but a fox.

Jasmine lifted her arms slowly, looping them around Quinton's neck.

She easily caught the flicker of desire in his eyes in the low lighting.

"Mr. Greystone," she whispered, "tell me who sounds better—me or Winona?"

His grip around her waist suddenly tightened. Quinton's breath swept down on her the next second, the pinewood scent enveloping her senses. Instead of resisting, Jasmine leaned in—willingly, even eagerly, getting swept into the storm.

She kissed him back, lips parting to tangle with his. He responded like a dog being rewarded, frantic and eager.

His hands slid downward, brushing over the soft curves hidden beneath today's dress. He gave her a light squeeze and was immediately rewarded with a soft whimper.

He nipped her earlobe and murmured hot against her skin, "You sound the best."

In the next moment, Jasmine was lifted off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist, taking the upper hand, leaning down to kiss him again.

Why Quinton? The answer was simple. The Greystones's power outstripped the Gardners's. If things went public, Ethan wouldn't dare mess with Quinton.

And then there was his scent. She liked it. A lot.

Whether Quinton would actually protect her didn't matter to her.

She'd already felt his arousal and assumed he'd be impatient—maybe take her against the wall or bend her over without a word.

But he didn't. He was far more gentle than Ethan had ever been.

Like he was making love to someone he cherished, he carried her to the bed with care, undressed her slowly, revealing a body toned with muscle—and then leaned down to kiss her again.

His kisses were long, lingering, tracing from her lips all the way down, making every inch of her skin feel like it was melting open.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, tingling with a mix of anticipation and sensation. She had to admit—she chose right.

This kind of attentive, deliberate foreplay? Ethan had never given her anything close.

So when Quinton lowered his head between her legs, she froze for a moment in disbelief.

He didn't tease—just buried his face between her legs, licking into her like he was starving, and her scream wasn't a sound so much as a convulsion, her hips jerking against his mouth as the room swallowed her cries.

Quinton clearly loved her reaction, sucking her even harder.

For the first time in her life, Jasmine realized that three minutes could feel like a lifetime—not just for a man but for a woman, too.

She curled inward, trembling, her dazed eyes locked on him.

"Quinton," she called out, "put it in."

That sultry, honeyed voice didn't even sound like her.

And yet, she heard it loud and clear.

The next round hit like a storm. Jasmine felt like she was adrift on a tiny boat in a raging sea—every little wave sent shivers through her entire body.

Her mind couldn't hold onto anything anymore. Not Ethan, not Winona, not even the fallen Arkwells.

That night, she fully and completely surrendered to her most primal instincts.

Again and again, she moaned his name. "Quinton ... Quinton ... "