Page 35 of SINS & Riley
He wants a show for his guards? Fine. Let him choke on it.
Buckle up, buttercup.
I suck so hard, I nearly gag. But when his finger taps the back of my throat, I fake a full blown orgasm. “Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!” I hum around his finger.
Slowly, he pulls out.
I moan. “If the guards enjoyed the show, tip the server.”
His growl rips the room apart. “Get. Out.”
Plates clatter. A thunder of retreating steps. The room empties like roaches scattering under a heat lamp.
Shit.
I quickly realize I may have mouthed off one moan too many.
“Playtime’s over, Zapretnaya. And you’re definitely getting the tip, my dirty little girl.”
12
RILEY
The way he calls me his dirty girl does something to me.
The words slice straight through me as heat spreads across my body like a brush fire in Malibu.
My thighs part on instinct, aching like hell for whatever punishment he means to give.
Apparently, crazy looks good on me.
Wood scrapes as he drags a chair over and settles beside me.
And suddenly, I feel him everywhere.
Figuratively. Not literally.
Because literally, he’s not touching me. At all.
And judging by the quiet clink of silverware and the annoying sound of chewing, he doesn’t intend to.
“Are you eating?” I ask, disdain dripping from every word.
“Yes. Pappardelle with short rib ragù. And it’s delicious. Would you like a bite?”
“But… what about my punishment?”
I can’t believe I just said that. And, nope, not desperate sounding at all.
“I already told you. After dinner.”
I huff the sharp sound of the sexually insane.
“Open,” he commands.
How is it that I’m disappointed that he doesn’t mean my legs?
He wants me to eat.
