Page 63 of Sinful Sacrifice

“You have stairs.”

“Stairs that aren’t the size of a toenail or made of rotting wood.”

“Stairs are stairs.” I shrug. “Your bed is also surprisingly comfortable.”

“Surprisingly?” He raises a dark brow. “Where did you think I slept? On the concrete in some dungeon or a prison mattress?”

“No, it’s just that most men don’t have comfortable mattresses.”

Damien glares at me. “I’d suggest you never refer to you and another man’s mattress again, Pippa.”

“Why? Do you plan to kill every man and mattress I’ve ever sat on?”

“If I’m having a shitty day, possibly.” He motions to the box of doughnuts. “Eat. You didn’t have dinner last night.”

“Neither did you.” I’m not one hundred percent positive of that since we weren’t together most of the evening.

“I had coffee this morning.” He stalks around me to sit in the chair in the room’s corner.

He moves his head from one side to the other, and I hear his neck pop. He pops his knuckles next.

His bruised knuckles.

My broken man—always bruised and cut on both the inside and out.

His eyes level on me as I sashay toward him.

“I have to keep my protector strong.” I remove a doughnut and drop the box on the floor before straddling him.

“Sugar isn’t what keeps me strong.” He smirks, brushing his knuckle over my cheek, and I shiver.

“Then, what does?”

“Getting what I want.” His hand descends my neck, between my breasts, and stops at the waistband of my leggings. “And what I want right now is to taste this sweet pussy.” He slightly pulls the waistband back and snaps it back into place.

My blood warms, and my legs tremble against his hard thighs. I tilt my hips forward, feeling his growing erection beneath me. His fingers trail along my waistband while I decide to have some fun.

I dip my finger through the doughnut frosting and spread it across my lips.

He smirks again, his gaze cruising to my mouth, enticing me further.

I spread the frosting down my neck.

Monique is downstairs, and any other time, I’d be mortified at the possibility of someone hearing me during an intimate moment. But with Damien, here, I feel comfortable in my body and sexuality.

He dips his head closer and skims his tongue along the seam of my lips, collecting the frosting. His eyes hold me hostage. Someone could barge into the bedroom, and I wouldn’t be able to look away.

When he flicks his tongue against my lips, I part them, allowing him entry.

My body is on fucking fire.

Burning with need for him.

His mouth leaves mine to trail kisses down my cheek and neck, capturing the frosting there. His soft tongue easily glides across my skin.

My clit throbs, and he hasn’t even slipped his hand into my panties yet.

He snaps my waistband again before gripping my hips and hoisting me to my feet. I lose a breath, excitement rushing through my veins, when he takes the doughnut and drops it on the table beside the chair. He rises, towering over my body like a threat.

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