Page 78 of Sinful Sacrifice

She attempts to wiggle out of my hold, but I don’t loosen my grip. “You’d never.”

I dip my head and nuzzle my nose against her neck. Her hair is in a ponytail, so it’s easy for me to suck on her sensitive skin there.

“You’re right,” I say against it. “If he ever saw how beautiful you look with my cock in your mouth, I’d have to sever his goddamn head off.” I lick up her neck and hold her still as her knees weaken. “That sight is for me and me only.” I slide my hand down her shorts over her panties and play with her clit.

She throws her head back, resting it on my shoulder, her gaze finding mine. “Did you ever doubt my trust?”

“You have to doubt everyone’s in this world.”

“Did I pass your trust test, then?”

“You passed.” I slip her panties to the side and finger her until she comes on my fingers.

That’s my good, trustworthy girl.

26

If he makes dinner for you, green flag, ladies.

Green freaking flag.

Don’t side-eye me for ignoring the red ones, though.

Monique has the night off, so Damien offered to cook dinner. When I asked if he knew how to cook, he shared with me that his mother had made it a weekly ritual for him and Julian to spend an hour in the kitchen with her, much to their father’s dismay. She knew the lifestyle was hard for women, and with their lack of interest in an arranged marriage, she didn’t want them to starve to death if they stayed single.

Cooking has never been my strong suit. So much of my time was dedicated to dance that I never learned my way around a kitchen. My go-to meals are ramen, grilled cheese, and simple salads. Since my mother spent so much time at the studio and my father was gone gambling, those are also what I grew up eating.

I rarely get early nights with Damien. Unless we have plans or he’s watching Amara, he works late. It’s usually past three in the morning when he finally crawls into bed with me. Even with him gone so much, I don’t feel alone.

No matter how busy he is, he always makes a point of staying in contact. If he misses breakfast with me, he stops by Brew Bliss to order a coffee and wish me good morning. He texts and calls throughout the day. Despite being the busiest man I know, he always stays in touch.

Words of advice: if my Mafia boyfriend can text me amid his crimes, then so can yours.

It’s so sexy watching Damien in the luxury all-black kitchen. The brownstone, clearly renovated from its original state, makes perfect use of the available open space. The natural lighting illuminating the room prevents it from appearing too dark, and the black marble adds to the polished touch. The state-of-the-art appliances are comparable to ones found in high-end restaurants.

“You know, I feel like I practically moved in with you,” I comment, filling two glasses with wine and sitting on the island stool.

For the past thirty minutes, I’ve watched Damien navigate the kitchen. When I offered to help, he told me to sit there, have a drink, and relax.

“You look pretty comfortable here.” His eyes are on me as he warms oil in a wok. “Might as well move in. I like coming home to you at night.”

“I don’t know if I’d be a good roommate candidate,” I reply, attempting to sound like I’m joking but failing. I reach for my glass and take a satisfying sip. “I’m a terrible cook, I had a near-death experience when I cleaned my bathroom with too many chemicals at once, and I have a history of paying rent late.”

That pretty much sums me up as a whole.

Don’t blame me. Blame my hyperactive brain.

It’s why I love ballet so much.

The constant flow of thoughts in my mind finds solace when I dance.

When I tie my pointe shoes and dance, my outside world fades away, and I’m in the moment.

Damien rests the wok on the burner and stretches across the island to cup my face. “Pippa, those reasons mean absolutely nothing to me. I have a cleaner and a chef, and I’d never take a penny from you.” He runs his thumb along my bottom lip. “There’s nothing I want more than for you to live with me.”

“Steps, remember?” I squeak out against his thumb, causing him to drop his hand from my face. “I’m already breaking so many of them.”

“I’m ready to burn those steps to the ground,” he grumbles.

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