Page 66 of SINS & Riley
And God help me, I love it.
I’m teetering on the edge, desperate to fall.
His control unravels as mine slips away, the rhythm building—fast, furious, and decadently filthy—until the tether snaps.
The sound that rips from him is primal.
His hips drive forward, hard, as thick heat floods my mouth, trickles down my throat.
I take it all. Swallow every drop as my release slams into me in a violent, shattering crash.
Until we’re nothing but a tangle of sweaty sex and breathless pants.
A strong hand strokes my hair as I float down, trembling and utterly undone.
“You’re everything, Riley.”
And all I can think is?—
And you’re everything I hate.
My enemy.
21
ZVER
The next day, I try to burn Pom from my thoughts.
I’m pretty sure nothing short of a Napalm will do the trick.
She’s everywhere. Under my skin. In my blood. And I can’t afford the distraction.
Not today.
Normally, I avoid my little Pom almost as fervently as she avoids me.
A mutual benefit, I guess.
She usually splits her time between Dominic’s kids, devouring her latest obsession—book eight in a series about vampires built like Hemsworths if the cover can be trusted—and scribbling hate mail about me in her journal.
Every word of which I eat up like chocolate fucking mousse.
But today, there can be no distractions. Not even Pom.
We roll up in two vehicles.
Me, in an armored Benz. My men, in a black unmarked van.
A driver, four guards, and enough firepower to start a small war.
Might as well hang a neon sign that says do not fuck with me.
But when it comes to Uncle Andre, communication’s never been his thing.
Which is why I’m packing extra insurance.
The house rises ahead, an insult to architecture and good taste. It’s equal parts grandiose and gaudy.
