Page 79 of Sinful Sacrifice

I sigh.

“If you’re not ready to move in with me officially, I understand, but you’re getting a new apartment with a goddamn doorman.” He presses his finger to my lips when I open them to argue. “And let’s not discuss being able to afford it. I’m covering the cost, and that’s nonnegotiable.” He replaces his finger with his lips, smacking a kiss to them, and pulls back to return to cooking.

“I’m not comfortable with you spending so much money on me.”

“If anyone deserves to be spoiled, it’s you. That’s how I want to spend my money. Give me that, baby.”

“I just …” My shoulders droop.

He adjusts the stove’s heat to circle the island, spins me around in the stool, and perches himself on the edge of the marble.

His gaze penetrates mine. “Pippa, I know this feels rushed, but give me a chance. Forget about the steps, about what anyone else thinks. Block all of that out. Let our relationship unravel on our timing.” He smooths his hand over my cheek, his signature move.

One night, I told him I loved when he did that.

“I do it for selfish reasons,” is what he replied. “I do it to remind us both that you’re mine, and you’ll always be mine. Your face fits so well in my palm that I want to mold it there for the rest of our lives.”

“I’m good with where we’re at,” he says, slipping me back into our conversation. “Are you?”

My heart skips as I gulp and whisper, “I’m good with where we’re at too.”

“Then, that’s all that matters.” He smirks. “Just me and you.”

I blow out a long breath. “I’m scared, Damien.”

“There’s nothing to fear with us, Pippa. I’d sacrifice my heart before I hurt yours. If I’m not making you feel safe enough, let me know what else I need to do.”

Tears prick my eyes. “You make me feel safer than anyone.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but we both stare at my stomach when it rumbles.

He smirks before kissing me once, twice, three times. “Let’s get you fed.”

I slide off my stool as he releases me. “What can I help with?”

He raises his chin. “Alexa, play classical music.” His eyes drink me in for a moment. “You can dance in the kitchen while I cook. Entertain me, my sweet dancer, and I’ll give you a round of applause with my tongue later.”

27

Two Months Later

My head throbs as I enter Antonio’s office. We’re post a four-hour meeting, where we discussed the record-breaking casino earnings and potential expansion to a second location. To which I voted in opposition. So did Antonio.

Laundering money through one location is risky as it is. I’ll sacrifice money for a lesser headache. I’m already pushing my luck and in jeopardy of prison time for everything I do.

Antonio’s jackass uncle, Sonny, kept pushing the matter, like it’d make his dick grow bigger, making the meeting drag on and on. Eventually and thankfully, Vincent kicked everyone out and said we’d revote in two weeks. My vote won’t change.

Lucky Kings is more than a front for illicit financial activities. We also manage it as a legitimate company. Our income has increased fourfold in the past five years. We have a fleet of employees who focus on advertising, basic running of the casino, and even an HR department.

Rumors follow the casino, but many of our employees are law-abiding citizens who receive legal paychecks. They don’t know what happens behind closed doors—how we wash five-dollar bills to convert them to hundreds or transfer money across so many overseas accounts that our accountants even have trouble keeping track.

“Are you still pissed at me?” Antonio asks, kicking his feet up on his desk.

Relaxing in the chair opposite his desk, I casually trace my finger around the edge of my whiskey glass. “I’m not pissed. I’m frustrated you hid it from me.”

“Stop being frustrated. I did you a favor,” he says in a dry tone. “Pippa can come around more.” He steeples his fingers together. “There’s another issue we need to discuss.”

Just hearing the words another issue makes my head throb.

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