Page 12 of Under Control

It drapes, in Merrick’s words, and he’s right. It’s way too sensual.

I feel it now that Valentin’s staring at me like he wants to devour me.

If only I really was a statue—then Valentin could break his teeth and jaw on my rock skin.

“Don’t be angry with him. I bought two of his paintings as compensation. After all, a man must make a living.” He steps into the room and shrugs off his jacket. “You haven’t called.”

“Why would I?”

“I thought I made my intentions clear.” His voice is liquid gold and honey, and he doesn’t look away as he drapes his jacket over a chair.

“And I thought I made mine clear as well.” He tilts his head, an amused smile on his face as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “What the hell are you doing?” I say, not happy with how high-pitched my voice sounds.

“You don’t know me. I understand that. To you, I am some stranger. A dangerous man, perhaps. A man that aimed a gun at you. But you should know that I am only used to hearing the wordnowhen it’s a part of a bedroom game.”

My mouth drops open. He removes his shirt and tosses it aside. A pulse hammers down into my core thinking about what kind of games this man plays in bed—apparently, the kind that involve the wordnosomehow, whatever that means—and my filthy brain decides to fill in all the livid, lurid details.

Which is easier now that he’s shirtless.

Tattoos cover his broad, muscular chest. A spider, a rose with a knife, a skull mid-scream dripping blood. His abs are perfectly chiseled, and that gorgeous, insanely sexy V disappears into his low-slung suit pants. His narrow hips are sharp, and I can picture myself biting them and running my tongue along his firm skin.

Then he begins to unbuckle his belt.

“What are you doing?” I nearly shriek, backing away. I bump into the window, gripping my silk robe tightly.

“You are too hung up on bodies,” he says dismissively as if this is completely normal. “I saw you naked. I watched you lounging naked again just now. I think if you see me naked as well, it will break some of this tension you feel.”

“Valentin, absolutely not, that’s literally insane.”

“Should I stop then?” His belt slides out. He stands there, pants half open, and I catch a glimpse of his black boxer briefs and his thick bulge.

“I don’t—I mean, this is weird, I can’t?—”

But I don’t say the words. I don’t tell himno, please stop, like I really should, because I’m wildly turned on and sickeningly curious.

What does a god look like naked?

He lets his pants fall away.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone remove their clothes with grace before. At least, when I do it, I’m stumbling around theroom, falling into the bed, crashing into dressers, like I’m drunk or something.

Valentin slides out of his clothes. He’s in control of himself even as he watches me the whole time.

When he’s done, he stands before me in only his underwear.

My mouth fucking waters at the sight of him.

The man is obscenely cut. His muscles are built on top of more muscles. The man is big and he’s solid, with thick thighs and strong calves.

He could pin me down and I’d never be able to escape. Not from a man like that.

“You’re not naked,” I say, blinking rapidly. My eyes drift to his bulge—his thick, very large, very half-hard bulge, holy mother of crap—before snapping back up. Heat fills my cheeks.

He takes a few steps toward me. “Is that what you want? You want to see my cock? I’ll stand here and stroke myself for you, is that something you’d like?”

Oh, fuck me.

The image of him staring at me as he slides his massive hand along his even more massive shaft makes my heart skip in my chest.

---