Page 8 of Sinful Sacrifice

Damien’s legs stay wide as he reclines on the couch. He stretches his arms along the back as if preparing for a lap dance at the strip club. He and his all-business-like demeanor look so out of place in my apartment. It’s almost laughable as he sits on my hand-me-down couch, wearing a posh suit and polished loafers that I’m sure cost more than my rent.

He rolls up the sleeves of his blazer and shirt, his stormy eyes not leaving mine.

Everything about him screams intimidation.

Masculinity.

He’s about to be thoroughly disappointed when I start the Nutcracker number I performed three Christmases ago.

I tap my foot, unsure how to start, and peer down my body. “I need to put on my pointe shoes.”

He flicks his hand through the air. “Not necessary.”

I gulp while kicking off my sandals.

“Five seconds,” he warns.

His voice, sharp as a whip, startles me.

I perfect my posture, twirl on my toes, and nearly stagger into the wall. It’s the worst spin in the history of spins. A toddler who hasn’t even taken their first steps would’ve looked more graceful.

A thickness forms in my throat as I lift my gaze to his, inch by inch.

“Come closer.” He crooks his finger.

I edge nearer but abruptly stop.

Make this worth your while, Pippa.

I cross my arms. “How much will you knock off my father’s debt for that?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Are you selling yourself to me?”

“Hell no.” I wince. “But if you’re making me perform, I might as well ask.”

“First off, I’m not making you do anything. I gave you the choice.” He hooks his finger again, another demand to come closer.

I hesitate, shuffling my feet against the shag rug until I’m only inches from him.

Bending at the waist, he grabs me around the hips and yanks me onto his lap. I lose a breath as he gathers my face in his hands.

Hands so large that they could effortlessly crush my bones.

His eyes are stern and intrusive as he works his jaw. “I’d pay off every debt he owes for a night with you.”

A sudden lightheadedness hits me.

“How do you know I’d be worth it?” I ask as he holds me in place.

He lazily sweeps his cold thumb along my chin. “I know it’d be worth it since I’d spend the rest of my night having fun with you, my sweet dancer.”

Goose bumps pebble along my skin like a veil, and my lower lip tingles as he slides his mouth against it and sucks. It takes all my strength to turn my head away from him.

“One dance,” I say, hating how my voice shakes. “That’s our deal.”

No way can I get pulled into Damien’s magnetic field.

I have a feeling those who do are forever stuck there.

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