Page 131 of SINS & Riley
Then horror dawns.
I’ve been traveling forever. Ten hours on a plane, two more in a car. Has my body committed the ultimate betrayal?
I risk a discreet sniff at my underarm. “Is this because I stink?”
“No.” His smirk sharpens. “You never smell like anything but roses.”
I roll my eyes.
“But,” he adds, as he drops his jacket to the floor and kicks off his shoes. “You traveled here without a break? Even roses need rinsing.”
He’s not wrong.
The room grows impossibly hot as he unclips his gun holster and sets it aside, then works his shirt buttons loose one by one.
His belt is already gone, pants unzipped—and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he’s got an Adonis belt. That perfect V carved deep in his upper thighs.
I lick my lips, trying to process the fact that he’s talking about a shower. A shower.
By now, I'm babbling nonsensically. “How do you know I don’t want a bath?”
“Because your suite has a garden tub big enough to drown a small army, and you never touch it.” His mouth curves. “You’d rather stand under scalding water for forty minutes, let it hammer your back until your skin’s lobster-red.”
He gets a pillow in the head for that one. “Are there cameras everywhere?”
He just shrugs. “Yes.”
Then his shirt comes off, and my breath stalls. Dante had a serpent coiled around his arm.
Here, in the same place, Zver inked with a skull bleeding roses.
The last of his clothes hit the floor, and there it is—his outrageously large cock.
Naturally, no underwear.
Probably because that beast of a dick refuses to be restrained.
He takes both my hands, pulling me to my feet.
From his discarded pants, he produces a knife. A switchblade. The snap of the blade rips the air in my lungs.
My eyes go wide.
His stare is ravenous. But his words are so soft. “I can just remove your dress if you prefer.”
How he knows about my sick, twisted lust-obsession with knives is beyond me. But he does. And somehow, that’s all that matters.
My voice hitches. “Cut it off.”
The blade answers back. Metal whispering through fabric.
Each rip. Each seductive tear. My nipples harden, painfully tight.
My dress. My bra. All of it discarded in obscene little pieces, like he’s savoring how wrecked I get from the sound alone. Feeding on my enjoyment, dragging it out.
Instantly, I’m soaked.
Then he drops to his knees.
