Page 159 of Dance of Deception

And I realize where this is going.

I stiffen slightly, my pulse jumping, the old fears stirring awake and creeping in.

“Carmine, what—” My voice catches as his hands move, fingers skimming over my shoulders, tracing my spine, making a shiver cascade down my back.

His gaze in the mirror is intense, unyielding. “Watch.”

I try to twist away, but his hands tighten on my hips, keeping me in place.

The silk of my camisole whispers against my skin as he slides his fingers beneath the hem. Slowly, deliberately, he pulls it up, inch by inch revealing my body to me.

I inhale sharply, watching his fingers drag over my stomach, his knuckles brush the underside of my ribs as he lifts the camisole higher, past my breasts.

I let out a barely-there whimper when the fabric catches for a moment at my collarbone, but he tugs again, freeing me completely.

The silk slips over my head and off my body, leaving me bare from the waist up, my skin flushed.

I try to cover myself. It’s not embarrassment or shame, not with him. But we’re facing a mirror. I’m being forced to watch this, tosee it, and that has my pulse thudding.

But before I can, Carmine slides his hands down my arms to my hands, lacing his fingers through mine and pressing my palms to the mirror in front of me.

“Carmine…”

“Watch,” he murmurs.

His hands glide back down, over my shoulders, my ribs, his touch exploring, memorizing. His hands trail lower, skimming the waistband of my silk shorts, fingers dipping inside, teasing the fabric.

I try to press my thighs together, but he nudges them apart with his knee, shaking his head.

His fingers hook into the waistband, and slowly, unhurriedly, he slides the shorts down, letting the silk glide over my hips, mythighs, my legs. They whisper to the floor, leaving me in nothing but the last thin scrap of lace between us.

I suck in a breath, watching myself in the mirror, watching the way his hands roam my newly bared skin, possessive and unyielding. His muscled arms wrap around me, and I shiver when I see one hand grip my breast and the other slide down to cup my pussy through my panties.

Anxiety roars loud in my ears. Panic begins to claw at the edges of my sanity.

I can’t watch this.

Carmine just holds me close, his lips ghosting over my shoulder, my neck, my ear.

“No running,” he murmurs quietly. “No hiding. Look at yourself, Lyra.”

I shiver, trapped between his body and my own reflection, struggling to see myself the way he does. I swallow hard, staring at myself, at him standing behind me, fully dressed, while I’m so vulnerable.

His lips graze the shell of my ear, his breath warm, steady. “Keep your fucking eyes open,” he growls. “You need to see how beautiful you are, and not be afraid tolook atthat beauty.”

I shake slightly, my fingers twitching against the mirror’s surface.

I don’t know if I can do this.

He doesn’t give me a choice.

His hand twists, fingers sliding into the waist of my panties before he grabs them in a fist and drags them down my thighs.He leaves them bunched at my knees, then his hand slips up between my legs again and cups my bare pussy.

“Wait, let me turn around?—”

“No.”

With a choked gasp, I cry out as he drags two fingers up my lips and rolls them over my clit. The electric pleasure and heat that instantly bloom in my core have my pulse skipping.

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