The sound of fabric ripping preceded Pein's emergence from his bedroom, his jaw tight with barely controlled frustration. "This is absolute bullshit," he growled, but made no move to cover himself as he stalked toward you.

The black maid dress strained across his broad shoulders and muscular chest, the fabric offering tantalizing glimpses of the skin beneath where it had torn slightly. The skirt fell to his knees, but with each step he took, it rode higher on his thighs, revealing strong, defined legs.

He stopped just inches from you, close enough that you could smell the citrus of his body wash mixed with something darker—something uniquely Pein. His dark eyes bored into yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"You think this is funny?" he asked, his voice lower and rougher than usual as his gaze trailed slowly down your body, making you acutely aware of how little space separated you.

When he reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes again, his touch was firm, possessive. "You've been wanting to see me like this, haven't you? Don't try to deny it—I see the way you look at me."

The ruffled headpiece sat askew in his dark hair, creating a contrast that should have been ridiculous but somehow only heightened his dangerous appeal. His ears burned red with embarrassment, but his eyes held only challenge and something darker—something hungry that mirrored the feeling growing inside you.