"Okay, Zaya. Touch her legs."
The assistant's words echoed in my mind, snapping me back to reality. Zaya moved slowly, her hands sliding up my thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her fingers were warm, and my skin prickled at her touch as she pushed up my nightgown.
My eyes went wide, and I struggled to keep the scene in mind as the fabric bunched up around my waist.
I knew I was supposed to be reacting, supposed to be pulling away, pushing back against the spy who had invaded my room. But all I could think about was the way Zaya's skin felt on mine.
There was a moment of pause before the assistant spoke again.
"Zaya, caress her cheek, slowly. And then kiss her."
It felt like I had stopped breathing. This was the moment that I'd been avoiding, the moment I'd been dreading ever since the director announced the sudden change in plans.
Zaya leaned forward, her hand cupping my cheek like it belonged there.
