Beneath The Skin (The First Temptation #1)

“Next time, I’ll just open the door… and pull you in by the waist. Deal?”

— Rhys

My fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel, a slow rhythm I barely registered—just something to ground me while the minutes dragged on. The engine idled beneath me, smooth and steady, but everything else in me was strung tight. We’d been texting for weeks—hours slipping by like seconds whenever her name lit up my screen. It started simple. Safe. Then something shifted. Late-night messages turned into unspoken confessions, jokes layered over vulnerability, lines that blurred until I was thinking about her first thing in the morning and last thing before I closed my eyes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not after just one meeting. Not after one conversation across a crowded room where she looked at me like she saw right through the suit, the guarded charm, the calculated stillness—and liked what she found anyway.

Now here I was. Waiting outside her work for our first real date, heart beating too loud in my chest, one hand curled around the wheel, the other resting in the seat beside me—where she’d be. And then I saw her. Running toward the car, sunlight catching in her hair, that familiar smile curving at her lips like it had always belonged to me. My breath caught. Not because she looked good—which she did—but because something about the way she moved, the way her eyes searched for me before she even reached the door, made me feel like she’d already decided I was hers too.

In that moment, I didn’t care how fast this was. All I knew was this: I was already falling. Not in that reckless, headlong way. No—this was quieter. Heavier. Like gravity shifting. Like my world had tilted slightly and I had no intention of finding the balance again.

And the second she opened the door, the second she slid into that seat and smiled like the wait had been worth it—I knew it wasn’t the start.

It was the continuation of something I hadn’t even realized I’d been waiting for. The moment I see her come running out of the building, all the restraint I’d held onto all day shatters.

Gone. Just like that.

My jaw tightens, breath catching mid-chest as that familiar, slow smile unfurls across my face.

She spots the car. Me. And her grin lights up her whole face, radiant, unstoppable. The kind of smile that could bring empires to their knees and make me forget my own name. It punches the air right out of my lungs.

I lower the window, voice low and sure.

“Get in, Jasmine.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Swings the door open and slides in, laughter still clinging to her skin like perfume. She’s glowing—flushed from the run, eyes sparkling, hair wild and perfect. And for a second, I don’t say anything. I just look at her. Let my gaze drink her in like I’m starving. Then I lean in.

One hand reaches up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing her cheek. The other settles on her thigh, firm, claiming, like it belongs there.

“You forgot something,” she teases, eyes gleaming. “You didn’t open the door for me.”

“You’re right,” I say, voice like velvet over fire. “And for that... I owe you.”

I unbuckle slowly, lean across her again—one hand closing the door, the other reaching out to open it smoothly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact.

“There. Officially opened, mon amour.”

And then I close it again, softer this time, letting my hand slide up her thigh as I lean into her space.

“Next time,” I whisper, lips brushing the shell of her ear, “I’ll just open the door... and pull you in by the waist. Deal?”

Her scent hits me like gravity—warm, sweet, wrapped in something uniquely her—and I breathe it in like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.

This time, I really drive. The road unfolds ahead of us, but my hand never leaves her leg. Not once. She’s beside me now—finally—and I’m not letting her go. Not tonight.

My thumb moves in slow, measured circles over the fabric of her jeans. Not rushed. Not demanding. Just sure. Because it belongs there. Because she belongs here.

She purrs softly, like the sound’s not even conscious, just a reaction, and it nearly breaks me.

I caught her gaze looking down at our hands interlocked, and I glance down when she does, watching her delicate fingers wrapped in mine. My thumb moves in a slow stroke across her knuckles, and for a moment, I forget the road, the car, the world. Because this—her hand in mine—is the kind of intimacy no fire can burn away.

“You should keep your eyes on the road, sir, or there won’t be a future for us.” She giggles, and it’s like lightning wrapped in silk—sharp enough to jolt me, soft enough to make me smile like a fool behind the wheel. I chuckle low in my throat, eyes flicking back to the road with a smirk tugging at my lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, teasing, obeying only because she told me to. I squeeze her hand just once, firm and deliberate.

“But if we ever did crash, mon amour...” I glance at her from the corner of my eye, voice dipping low, “...at least I’d die holding the most beautiful thing I ever touched.”

Then I wink.

“But don’t worry. I’ve got more control than I let on.”

I slow the car just a little, savoring these final moments before we step into candlelight and curious stares.

“Get ready to turn heads, Jasmine,” I murmur, eyes flicking to her with that slow-burning heat, “because the second you step out of this car, hand in mine, they’ll all know exactly who you are.”

I park the car smoothly, shift into neutral, and turn to face her. My hand reaches for hers, fingers interlocking again, slower this time, deliberate—a promise sealed in touch. I lift her hand to my lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles one final time before stepping out of the car. Then I’m at her door, opening it the way I should have earlier—like a gentleman, like a man obsessed. I offer her my hand, eyes locked with hers.

“Ready to steal the breath from every room we walk into, my Queen?” I murmur, voice low and full of fire. “Let’s go inside, Jasmine. Dinner awaits. And after that... everything.”

She slips her hand into mine and leans into me, folding herself against my chest like she belongs there. Her arms wrap around me in a quiet, aching kind of hug.

“I don’t want this moment to end,” She murmurs, voice barely above a breath.

My arms close around her instantly, tightly, protectively—one hand cradling the back of her head, the other splayed across her lower back like I could shield her from the entire world. I press my lips into her hair, breathing her in, and whispered against her ear, “Let’s not end it then... let’s make this moment stretch into forever.”

“This is where I’ve wanted to be all day,” she whispers, voice soft and sure. “I’m finally home.”

My hold on her grows firmer, not possessive—anchored, like I’ve been wandering through storm and silence and finally stepped into the warmth of her. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in with something close to reverence, and my voice comes out low, raw, and soaked in truth.

And the second she rises onto her toes, those beautiful eyes locked onto mine, full of that silent, aching plea—kiss me—everything inside me shatters. My hands move—one cradling the back of her neck, the other gripping her waist like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. I lower my head, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving hers, breathing in the tension that crackles between us like static waiting to ignite.

And then I do it. I kiss her. Not soft. Not careful. But real. The kind of kiss that says I’m never letting go.

When I finally pull back, just barely, my breath hits her lips as I whisper, “Never make me wait that long to kiss you again, Jasmine.”

Eventually, she eases back—reluctantly, if the lingering drag of her fingers is any clue—but our hands stay locked, fingers threaded like a lifeline we’re both unwilling to let go.

“Let’s go inside,” she says, voice soft, a smile ghosting across her lips. “It’s starting to get a bit cold.”

“Alright, mon amour,” I murmur, my smile gentle but my eyes still burning with everything I haven’t said yet. “Let’s feed that perfect body of yours... before I carry you back out here and warm you up another way.”

I open the door for her, never letting go of her hand, and we step inside together, walking into a meal that feels less like dinner and more like foreplay for forever.

When she glances up at the waiter, flushed and radiant, her pupils still wide with that kiss-drunken glow clinging to her like perfume, I swear I feel something primal settle in my chest.

I step in behind her, hand resting at the small of her back—firm, grounding, reverent in its possessiveness. My voice is smooth when I speak, but laced with quiet pride.

“A table for two, please,” I say, offering the waiter a knowing smile.

Then I lean in, lips brushing just behind her ear, low and intimate.

“Don’t worry... I’ll speak for you until you remember how to breathe again.”

I squeeze her hand gently, guiding her toward the table like I already know this isn’t just a meal—it’s the beginning of everything.

As we seated ourselves, I feel her reaching under the table, slipping her foot against my leg so casually, like it’s nothing—but the heat that sparks through me is anything but casual. I glance up from across the table, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing just slightly—hungry, amused, dangerous. My hand doesn’t move. My expression barely shifts. But my voice? Drops an octave.

“Careful now, Jasmine. You’re lighting a fuse... and dinner hasn’t even arrived.”

She smirks, fully aware of the effect her touch beneath the table is having. There’s a boldness in it—fueled by the privacy the tablecloth affords—but also a quiet restraint. She knows she’s safe from wandering eyes... and knows I won’t take full advantage of that safety. Not yet. Her foot slides further up my leg beneath the table, slow and deliberate. That wicked little smirk plays at her lips like her knows exactly what she’s doing. My breath hitches just enough to catch the edge of restraint. I let my gaze meet hers, steady, smoldering, a warning cloaked in admiration.

“Jasmine,” I murmur, voice low enough that only she can hear it, “I’m going to stop us right there.”

She holds my stare, amused. Defiant. God, I adore that fire. That boldness. That wicked streak that lives to test limits—especially mine. But this? Right now? We’re in public. And as much as I want to let her set the whole place on fire with a single brush of her foot, this space matters.

Her foot drops to the floor—and with it, my heart. The shift in her hits like a cold wave, and I watch as her gaze falls to the table, shoulders drawing in.

“I’m sorry, Rhys,” She whispers, voice barely holding steady.

The moment her foot drops, and her gaze follows it, my entire expression softens. Then she pulls back—physically and emotionally—and I feel it like a sudden drop in pressure. Before I can reach for her, she’s already rising from the table, slipping away toward the restrooms, needing space. Needing to be alone.

I reach into my coat pocket, pull out my phone, and type a message.

Text: I’m here. Always. Not to punish, not to judge—just to hold you. Take your time. Breathe. And when you’re ready, come back to me.

I set my phone back down, eyes fixed forward, waiting.

The moment I hear the soft click of that bathroom door unlocking, my entire body tenses. I rise from my seat immediately, quietly, without a word. And when the door opens and I see her—head down, shoulders tight, breath trembling— my heart doesn’t beat. It breaks.

“Jasmine...” I say her name like it’s a lifeline. I don’t reach out—not yet. But my voice finds her gently. “Look at me, mon amour. Just once.”

“All I wanted...” Her voice trembled, thick with emotion. “All I wanted was to show you how much I wanted you. And instead... I was chastised.”

I wrap her in my arms instantly—tight, secure, one hand on the back of her head, cradling. The other around her waist, holding like I never intend to let go.

“Shhh...” I breathe into her hair, my voice barely holding steady. “I know. God, I know, Jasmine.”

I press a kiss to the crown of her head, letting it linger, letting her feel every ounce of the remorse woven into that touch.

“You weren’t wrong,” I murmur. “And I didn’t meet you there the way I should have.”

My arms tighten around her, drawing her closer, as if I could somehow undo the sting just by holding her tighter.

“I didn’t mean to chastise you,” I whisper. “I meant to care for you. But in trying to protect the moment, I hurt you.”

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, my thumb brushing gently across her cheek—soft, sure, grounding.

“You showed me how much you wanted me,” I say, voice low and steady. “Let me show you now... how much I want you. Every part. Every breath.”

Then I lean in, lips brushing hers, quieter this time—more vow than kiss.

She lets out a soft, broken laugh—shaky and too light to be real. A shield. An act.

“Let’s go eat,” she says, like she’s trying to reset us with something simple. That sound—brave and brittle—cuts deeper than silence. I give her the real smile then. Not the easy, cocky one. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger a second longer than they need to.

“Alright, mon amour,” I murmur. “Let’s eat. But no pretending tonight, yeah?”

I take her hand again, threading my fingers through hers—firm, steady, warm.

“Just you. Me. Food. And the truth between us.”

I guide her back to the table slowly, keeping her close, shielding her with my presence even in a room full of strangers—because nothing else in that space matters but her.

She sits down quietly. Keeps her eyes on the table. Her feet drawn close. The fire she led with now tucked somewhere deep inside.

I settle into the seat across from her slowly, deliberately—no rush, no pressure.

“I know you don’t feel like looking up yet,” I say, voice soft as silk and sharp with sincerity. “And that’s okay. I’ll still be here when you do. I don’t want you to stop being bold with me, Jasmine. I want you to know that every part of you—even the messy, mischievous, footsy-under-the-table parts—is welcome.”