Page 83 of Sinful Sacrifice

“Watching you dance calms me. You pull me into your world and take my breath away with each delicate movement you make. The way your body flows with the harmony of the music is beautiful. It erases my worries, my troubles fading away as if they never existed at all.”

When he walks through the door tonight, I want him to forget his troubles and pain, for him to relax.

My master plan started this morning. Much to Emilio’s dismay, he chaperoned me on a shopping trip with Darcy and Genesis. We gathered the date-night necessities—lingerie, bubble bath, champagne, and chocolate. Now, I’m just waiting for my man to come home.

Emilio is seated at the island, drinking coffee and texting. Out of all the men Damien has appointed on Pippa duty, Emilio is my least favorite. Not that I disclosed that to him. He might be boring, but he’s still a man who murders people for a living.

When I asked Damien what Emilio’s deal was, he explained that Emilio struggles with his role within the Lombardi family. Unlike Damien and Julian, who adjusted well with the fact that they had no other life choices, Emilio didn’t. I guess his dad is a real asshole, too, and he and Emilio constantly butt heads.

My thoughts slip from my phone to the door when it opens. Damien walks in, holding a black garment bag.

Emilio stands and tucks his phone inside his pocket. “Am I good to go?”

“You’re good,” Damien replies, his eyes fastened on me.

Emilio leaves, and my mouth waters as Damien comes closer. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, his cuff links undone. I see him every day, and not one has passed where I didn’t find him fucking sexy.

I stand from the couch, meeting him halfway.

“Go change into this.” He hands me the garment bag. “We leave in thirty minutes.”

“To go where?” I tug at the hem of my tee.

I saved the lingerie for later. Damien would’ve flipped his shit if he had walked in to see me lounging in a lace nightie in front of Emilio.

“It’s a surprise.” He lowers his head, brushing a kiss against my lips. “Now, go get dressed, baby.”

He swats at my ass as I dash toward the stairs and follows me.

I haven’t officially moved in with Damien, but he cleared out half his closet for me. Since then, nearly my entire wardrobe has moved residences from my cubbyhole-sized apartment closet to here.

When we started dating, I had no issue fitting all my belongings in my apartment closet. But after all Damien’s spoiling, not even half would fit now.

I stroll through the bedroom and French doors that lead into the closet. Kicking out of my slippers, I hang the garment bag over my robe hook. I unzip the bag, my smile building with each inch.

The bag falls open, revealing a blush-pink gown.

It’s simple yet elegant with a V-neck and a length that sweeps the floor. I feather my fingers along the satin and notice Damien standing in the doorway, watching me. He rests against the length of the doorframe, his gaze sweeping down my body as I strip out of my clothes.

He inches into the closet yet keeps his distance as I glide the gown off its hanger. The dress is heaven, brushing my skin as I slip it on. Damien retreats to his side of the closet, swapping his black suit for a tux. He opens his watch drawer, selects a gold Rolex, and fastens it around his wrist.

I shudder when his gaze returns to me, and he licks his lips. His eyes lower down my body, drinking me in, and he whistles.

Raising his hand, he gestures for me to turn, facing the mirror. While staring at our reflections, I watch his gaze drift from my face, down my collarbone, to my cleavage, then down my waist. It lingers there as he cups his hands on my hips.

He bites his bottom lip before whispering, “Let me.” Crowding closer, he toys with my dress zipper that extends down my back to the base of my ass.

I breathe out a moan as he raises the zipper in slow motion, his free hand now stroking my shoulder.

“This color,” he mutters, burrowing his face against my neck, his voice as silky as the dress. “It’s the color of your cheeks when you blush after I’ve made you come.” He plays with the thin strap, slipping it down my shoulder, and slides his lips along my collarbone to place a gentle kiss there. “I can’t wait to see this color on your skin later tonight when my mouth is between your legs.”

My cheeks warm, blooming with the pink he loves.

“Time for your surprise, my sweet dancer,” he says against my skin.

I don’t have patience for surprises.

Maybe because the only surprises I had growing up were shut-off utilities and whatever scam of the week my father was working on.

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