Page 9 of Merciful Lies

I can’t help but wonder what I’m supposed to do next.

Good thing I don’t have to wonder for long.

“Get on the bed. On your hands and knees. Face the wall.”

His words are clipped, and I know I’m right. He is angry.

But I do as he says, a sliver of nervous anticipation works its way through my body, stopping somewhere in my core.

It’s been a long time for me, and he’s a really good-looking guy. The kind of man I fantasize about when I’m reading romance novels and picturing myself as the heroine.

Yeah, his body is amazing. He’s just so ripped. But he has scars, too. And I know those muscles aren’t just for show.

He’s handsome, too. His nose is straight. His chin defined. He has high cheekbones and perfect lips. But it’s his eyes that really caught my attention.

They’re bright blue and stunning.

Still. Nothing about him or this sick little exchange should turn me on.

I’m basically prostituting myself. Giving my body to him in exchange for clearing Sammy’s debt.

Shit. I’m so mad at him. So disappointed in my brother.

And I want to hate this guy for letting Sammy do it. For taking his marker when he clearly doesn’t have the experience to make such bets.

But I can’t blame Nico. He is what he is.

King of the Vipers.

“I said, get on the bed, Rosebud,” he growls.

My stomach clenches and I move to obey his commands, trying not to care that my soft body is completely bare to him.

I’m shocked, and a little embarrassed. I know this position will expose my sex to this stranger, and he’ll see it.

He’ll know I’m excited.

I close my eyes and inhale a shaky breath as I lean forward until I’m positioned on my hands and knees, facing the exposed brick wall.

I hear the rustling of his jeans as he shucks them off. I suck in another breath as the bed depresses when he joins me on top of the mattress.

The comforter is slate gray, thick, expensive. It feels nice beneath my hands.

“Relax, Anna. I won’t hurt you.”

Then I feel his hands on my body. He’s touching my back, tracing lines down my spine, conjuring shivers, and making me ache.

“You’re so fucking soft. I knew you would be,” he murmurs.

My eyes close as he does it again. Nico runs his big hands down my sides this time, over my hips, tracing the globes of my ass, all the way down to my knees.

Then his fingers trace along my inner thighs, and suddenly, he’s pressing my legs apart.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re fucking soaked, Rosebud.”

I don’t understand the nickname or why he’s given it to me. But I can’t find the air necessary to speak because Nico is kneeling behind me.

“Look at you all pink and wet for me. Gotta see if you taste as good as you look.”

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