Page 39 of That Sik Luv

He untangles his finger and drops the hair, moving around me. Sitting down on a large maroon couch to my right that appears to be made of leather, he gets comfortable. Leaning back into the seat, he adjusts his hips, slouching into it with his legs spread wide and his arms braced along the back.

My heart is racing at the expectations before me. I’m not even sure where to begin or how to do this. I grip the silk dress near my thighs, fisting the material in order to pull it up and over my knees. He watches me through the holes of the mask as he toys with the cuffs of his shirt near his wrists, rolling the material up his corded forearms, exposing more of his ink as he does. The man is covered with them.

I lick my bottom lip, my tongue sliding across it, attempting to calm my breathing, as I kneel onto the rug of the apparent office he’s locked us in. My lashes flutter as I try to come to terms with the fact that I’m really here, doing this…with him.

What am I doing?

Settling myself between his spread thighs, I grip the extra fabric of the gown in my hands, white-knuckling the material. I kneel, feeling the rough texture of the thin rug over the wooden floors. My eyes peer up at him for my next instruction.

I can’t tell what his expression is behind the mask. All I see are hazel eyes reflected by the dim lamps. He stares at me, somewhat of a snort escaping him.

“Look at her. On her knees, surrendering to her God.” He laughs as a wave of panic washes over me.

I’m regretting my confidence a few minutes ago when I told him I craved the heat of his fire.

“Crawl,” he barks.

I stare at him in confusion. I’m already on the floor between his legs.

“Lift your dress up and over your hips and crawl over to the desk,” he instructs, tipping his head back against the edge of the couch.

This must be some sort of humiliation tactic. When he realizes I’m not moving, he leans forward, grabbing something from behind his back. My heart stops when I see the gun in his hand. He twirls the gun around his finger, making a strange clicking noise beneath his mask that sounds like a ticking clock.

The idea that I can trust someone of his level of insanity is asinine. I’m naïve, and run entirely by hormones. Hormones putting me in danger of a calculated man I can’t seem to crack.

I slowly roll the dress up my hips, knowing my lack of underwear is about to have him seeing all of me from behind. Humiliation runs from my neck up to my warm cheeks as the flush of embarrassment overtakes me. I don’t want him to see the strange wetness I feel pooling between my thighs, but there’s no hiding it.

I turn from him, crawling across the rug, keeping my thighs as close together as I can to hide my body’s arousal. Making it to the nearby desk on all fours, I turn my head back to face him, awaiting the next instruction.

His eyes stay trained on my exposed self as he commands, “Now crawl under the desk. On your forearms.”

This is ridiculous. I want out. I want to leave the room.The humiliation is making me feel sick. I go to stand up when I hear him approach me. He places the end of the barrel of his gun against my head, and I gasp in fear and reluctant arousal.

Who would’ve thought a gun to my head would have me swimming in some kind of sick, dark lust?

“7636,” he drawls.

I’m practically panting in fear now, on my hands and knees beneath him. I squint my eyes, looking beneath the desk when it all becomes clear. There’s a safe there about the size of a mini-fridge.

Crawling beneath it, I arch my back as I lower myself onto my forearms. I feel the heat of his gaze on my exposed center, the wetness sticking against the inside of my thigh as I bend further down. I use the code he instructed, opening the safe. It’s too dark to see what’s in there, and I’m afraid of what it might be.

“The envelope. Grab it,” he says, dropping the heavy gun on the desk above me.

I blindly reach inside the safe, finding what seems to be a manila envelope; thick and heavy. I pull it out, handing it to him when he tells me to close the safe and twist the lock.

Backing out the way I went under, my bare ass bumps into his legs.

“You thought you were done?”

Turning beneath the desk, I realize he’s trapping me beneath it with his body.

“I told you, Briony. This is your baptism,” he says with a controlled voice, opening the belt to his slacks. “It’s time we took away your purity.”

My heart flutters in the confines of its cage as Aero removes his belt from the loops of his pants.

“Isn’t this what you want?” he asks, leaning down to where I’m sitting on my calves. Holding his belt with both of his hands about two feet apart, he drapes it around the back of my neck, and I shudder. “To be dirtied by the devil?”

Yanking the belt towards him, my head tilts further, looking up at the masked man above me. Something about his belt behind my neck has my body warming with that same lustful wonder I can’t contain, the tightening of my lower abdomen making me want to touch the space between my legs for some sort of relief.

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