Page 49 of Dance of Ruin

At the same time, there’s a flicker of heat on my skin when my fingers slip over the softness between my thighs.

The bare sensation is…new. But not unpleasant.

Kinda sexy, actually.

I shove the distracting thoughts away and shut off the water, stepping out to apply lotion and light makeup after toweling off. I dig through my drawers until I find the closest thing to “sexy lingerie” that I own—a matching pair of black lace panties and bra, slightly see-through. I bought these months ago, I forget why. I’ve never actually worn them.

It’s not like I’ve ever had anyone to wear themfor.

For a minute, I start mentally assembling a more put-together outfit: maybe something more “office appropriate”. A dress? Then I frown, turning to glare at myself in the mirror.

Why thehellam I dressing up for him?

Why did I just put on lingerie? Or shave my pussy last night, for that matter?

Because he told you to.

I swallow as a dark, whispering presence deep inside me smiles villainously.

And youlikethat he told you to.

I shudder as I pull my gaze away from the mirror, ditching any ideas of dressing up and reaching for a hoodie and leggings.

* * *

Lickity Splits:Hottest Girls in the Big Apple!

That sign still makes me cringe.

It’s so absurd it would almost be funny—if I weren’t walking through it a second time to offer myself up to the monster on the other side of the door.

Nico is sitting back in his chair when I enter, feet kicked up nonchalantly on the desk. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow and his collar is open, revealing eyefuls of his swirling tattoos. His dark hair is swept back, his chiseled jaw clenched, and his blue eyes slice across the room, pinning me to the floor like a nailed-down shadow.

His brow arches just enough to send a shiver through me that snaps my spine straight and makes my core clench.

“Close the door.”

His voice is low. Unhurried. Like a man discussing dinner reservations, not issuing orders to a woman he blackmailed into submission less than a day ago.

I ease the door shut behind me with a soft click.

He doesn’t make a move from where he sits sprawled behind his desk like a mad king, eyes locked on me.

“Take off your clothes.”

My mouth dries instantly. It’s not a question.

He regards me like a hunter watching a deer that is deciding whether to run or stay frozen.

My throat bobs and I finally work up the courage to speak.

“Why—”

“Because I fucking said so, Naomi. That’s why. Because I know it humiliates you. Because your fucking father sent abombto my fucking front door. And sincehe’s managed to lock himself behind a wall of secret service agents, andyouhaven’t…” He lifts a shoulder, gesturing broadly. “Well, here we are.”

Darkness curdles inside me.

I’ve tried to get in touch with my dadseven timessince the night Nico slipped out of the shadows of the Mercury Theater while I was alone on stage and told me in no uncertain terms that I was “his” now.

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