Page 8 of Protected By the Sinner
My dick pushes against the zipper of my jeans, and I haven’t even studied her face yet.
Her bone structure is flawless. A defiant little chin. Lips so full they’re sinful, promising pleasure.
And finally, the eyes.
I take a step forward, as I want to see them up close.
She doesn’t flinch, staring boldly back at me, though I catch a faint tremble in her right eyelid.
Her eyes are mesmerizing. They practically glow in the club’s dim light, as if they’re alive.
The woman is breathtaking.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Amber Martin. Actually, I lied. My name was never on that list. But it would’ve been a huge loss for your party if I weren’t here.”
I look at her more closely now because this woman just climbed several rungs on the ladder of how to catch my attention.
I know exactly what my body wants: to drag her into one of the back rooms, bend her over a table, and fuck her with those heels still on.
But I’m too experienced not to realize Amber’s already hooked me. A quick fuck with the brunette won’t be enough.
My instinct says I should back off, but I’ve never walked away from a challenge.
“Loss? I don’t like that word. And I’m not the kind of man who lets opportunities slip by,” I say, wrapping my arm around her slender waist.
Chapter 3
“I thought we were staying where the fun was,” she says. I can tell from my peripheral vision that she’s turned toward me.
I don’t look at her as we walk, though. The woman smells incredible, and for someone who’s never considered themselves impulsive, I have the sudden urge to sink my teeth into that neck. “And how do you know I’m not taking you somewhere even better?”
Her body moves suggestively closer to mine. “Are you?”
“You ask a lot of questions for a party crasher, Amber Martin.”
“If that’s what you think I am, why didn’t you throw me out?”
We reach the glass-walled mezzanine, an exact replica of the one in all my clubs. There’s no one else here—this area is strictly reserved for me.
I motion to a couch for her to sit, watching her measured movements as she does.
Despite the bold attitude, there are subtle contradictions in her behavior.
With so many years in the game, I know the dance of seduction by heart—how to perform it and how to receive it—but this stunning woman with me is contradicting herself, even if she doesn’t realize it.
Again, instinct tells me to send her away. But I don’t want to. Not yet.
I sit beside her, not too close.
Amber Martin has a strange effect on me. A kind of power that scrambles my senses.
She mirrors my posture but crosses her legs, and her miniskirt hikes up. I force myself to look away, one arm resting on the back of the couch. All it would take is a simple stretch of my hand and I’d be touching her shoulder and neck.
I clench my fist to deny myself that indulgence. I don’t like losing control in any area. Over the years, I’ve mastered the art of controlling both myself and others—no one changes that.
She stares at me with those unique irises, long made-up lashes casting a mysterious look.
