Page 82 of Dance of Deception

“What the fuck!” I yelp.

“Tell the truth,” he growls, his piercing blue eyes locked onto mine as his fingers roll my nipple again.

“Iam!” I blurt. “I?—”

When he pinches again, I’m unable to stop the shaky whimper that creeps into my voice.

He smirks darkly. “Hmm. Apparently we can add at least some degree of pain, or perhaps nipple torture, to your list of kinks.”

I try to will the heat from my face. “I…I don’t have alist of kinks.”

“Of course you do,” he says matter-of-factly. “Everybody does. We’ve just collectively decided that it’s not something to be talked about, which seems counter-productive to one's basic enjoyment of life, if you ask me.”

I purse my lips. “Yeah? Then what about you, hmm?” I throw back at him. “How about we pull your dirty secrets out into the open and analyze?—”

“Primal kink, consensual non-consent, restraints—onyou, not me—extreme dominance and control, impact play, seeing your body marked with my bruises and covered with my cum, and, as you may already have guessed, aroaringneed to chase you down and fuck you without mercy.” He lists them as casually as a burger order at a takeout window. “I think that covers it.”

I gape at him. I don’t even know what a primal kinkis—or impact play, for that matter. But I feel like asking him is knocking on a door I’m definitelynot prepared to open.

“Now,” Carmine says, clearing his throat. “We were discussing your porn viewing."

“Idon’twatch porn! I—” My mouth snaps shut.

Carmine’s brow arches expectantly.

“I…I read it, okay?” I mumble. “I don’twatch.”

“Romance books.”

I swallow, mortified, turning away from him. “And…erotica. Fan fiction.”

Jesus, why am I freely admitting this to him?

Carmine’s hand suddenly lands on my bare knee. I shiver, glancing down and watching with my breath caught in my throat as he slides it higher, moving to the hem of my dress. He takes the material in his fist, pushing it higher up my thighs.

“Stop it,” I choke without a single ounce of meaning behind it.

“No.”

God help me, the way my core tightens when he says that word…

I shudder when he pushes the dress up over my panties, leaving it bunched at my hips. It feels like I’m watching in slow motion, helpless—maybe unwilling—to do anything to stop him as he reaches for my thong.

“Carmine…” I whisper hoarsely. “W-what are you doing?”

“Whatever I like, little dancer.”

A vicious, throbbing blackness closes in around me, snarling.

Whatever I like…

I'm frozen, unable to move, just staring at his hands reaching for me. His fingers slip under the waist of my black lace panties, his knuckles brushing over my heated skin. He starts to tug, peeling them down as my breath arrests in my throat.

“You like studying people,” he murmurs, his voice almost clinical in its detached coldness. “You want to understand what makes them tick. What drives them.”

My pulse hammers against my ribs as he slowly continues to tug my panties down. Neon lights from outside peek around the edges of the curtains and illuminate my bare sex as he peels the lace away from my pussy.

Heat erupts over my face.

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