Page 39 of SINS & Riley
“If you want your dark romance with a ghost, go for it. Take the bishop. Make it a ménage à trois.”
“Thanks, I will. And I’ll scream his name the whole damn time.”
A beat.
Then—deeper, guttural—a feral growl. A warning.
“Oh, Dante,” I start in, moaning, arching my back, tipping my head like I’m receiving communion.
Nothing.
Louder now, sharper. Sensual. “Oh, Dante!”
His strike is swift. A fist knots in my hair and yanks. So much harder this time, it rips a squeak from my throat.
Fuck.
“This conversation is over.”
I can almost taste the scotch, his lips are so close.
He wrenches my head back just enough. A sliver of sight slips beneath the blindfold.
And I see him.
Or rather, I see his dick.
Sure, it’s behind his pants, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph… he’s hard.
Unmistakably. Unapologetically. Hard.
13
RILEY
The next thing I know, my wrists are unbound. Then, my body tips. I’m in the air. Two strong arms wrap around me, carrying me like a bride.
“Where are you taking me?” My voice breaks, half-breathless.
“To be punished.”
An obvious if not cryptic response.
Somehow my arms wind around his neck, fingers skating over taut skin and iron muscles. Heat pours off him, each touch a lit match against my fingertips.
Not pain. Not exactly. But enough to quiet the tremor that’s always just beneath my skin.
My fingers wander higher, combing through the thick waves of his hair. Nervous strokes, small and seeking.
I should stop.
I don’t.
“Are we going to your room?” I try not to sound too excited, but I’ve never been to his room. Never crossed into the forbidden East Wing.
The West Wing—or what I call the commoner side—is predictable. Guards. Dominic and his family. A gleaming kitchen. The library that spills into my room. Sunlight and laughter, at least when I get to play with his kids.
But the East Wing? That’s a vault. Massive doors that hum with secrets. Every time I see them, my fingers itch to twist the knob, and pry where I’m not supposed to.
