Page 62 of Shades of Ruin

I nervously twist the small, black box in my hand, hoping I didn’t overdo it with this last surprise. The anticipation of tonight has left me feeling territorial—as a Dom who’s used to rotating multiple subs every week, it’s a strange and unfamiliar emotion. I’ll be forced to share my angel with people other than the staff of my own kitchen, and something about that ignites my dominant side even more than usual. Sure, I’ll be surrounded by myfriends, but I need a little extra assurance that Angélica belongs to me.

I only hope that what’s inside the box doesn’t freak her the fuck out.

The hearty scent of chicken, chorizo, garlic, and cilantro wafts through the air as I walk into my apartment and lay our outfits for tonight across the sofa in the living room. Angélica is cooking stew, if I’m not mistaken, and my mouth is already watering for a taste. We’ve taken to alternating who’s on chef duty every Sunday night. It’s her turn, and I’d be lying if I said her nights weren’t my favorite, especially when she spoils me with some of her abuela’s Colombian recipes.

There’s something inherently seductive about having a woman cook a meal for you. And when the woman looks like my angel, I could come on the fucking spot at the sight of her in my kitchen, stirring something delicious over the hot flames as she sways her perfect, peachy ass to her favorite Colombian jazz music.

Sometimes I even catch her singing—her rich, alto voice turning words I don’t know into a sensual language that I understand very, very well. The kitchen is where Angélica comes alive, and whenever I watch her cook, I fall in love with her over and over again.

“Do you want a drink, angel?” I call as I make my way over to the bar. This is another routine we’ve slipped into. I play bartender when I get home, and she indulges me even though I out-drink her by at least double every time. She’ll up her tolerance eventually—I imagine she’ll need to after putting up with my shit day and night.

“Maybe just a small one?” she calls back. “I don’t want to be wasted when we get to the club.”

Sometimes she takes all the fun out of everything. “Fine,” I answer back before grabbing two whisky glasses and anunopened bottle of Glenfiddich Grande Couronne that’s been aged for twenty-six years. The bottle is gold, so cheers to fucking Finn.

This sweet little bitch of a whisky isstrong, and she’s going to fucking need it.

“Smells good,” I announce when I walk into the kitchen. Angélica is a sight pulled straight from my fantasies wearing a sexy little black dress that frames her tight ass and my apron wrapped around her waist. I come up behind her and take her into my arms, kissing her neck as I press the hard outline of my cock into her back.

“Happy to see me?” she asks with a laugh. She pushes herself into me, and I groan as she rubs my erection.

“Always, angel,” I sigh, my voice tense with the need to bend her over the counter and fuck her right now. Even though it’s torture, I hold myself back until I can give her the box weighing heavy in my left hand. After that, she’s getting my cock inside her no matter where she happens to be standing.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Her hips keep swaying to the music coming from the record player in the dining room, and I hold her against me and move right along with her.

“Ravenous,” I whisper against her ear. “But first, I have a surprise for you. Will dinner keep for a little while?”

“Oh,” she stammers, sounding a bit startled. “Let me check the rice, then I’ll let the sudado de pollosimmer.”

I feel the tension in her body as she lifts the lid on the rice, sweet-scented steam filling the air. She moves the rice to the back burner before stirring the stew and turning the flame down to low. She keeps her back turned for a moment too long, so I twist her around to face me. Immediately, her eyes land on the small, black box in my hands.

“Greyson,” she chokes out. It’s been a while since she’s called me something other than Grey. “What the fuck are you holding?”

At the pure panic in her eyes, I fumble with the box, and it falls to the floor. Spitting out a string of curses, I drop to my knees to retrieve it, jolting when she shrieks “Greyson!” in an octave I didn’t even know was in her range.

Jesus Christ, I didn’t consider what this would look like. Of course, she’s panicking. I’m an idiot, and I’m doing this all wrong, and I’ve scared the hell out of her without even opening the box. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I promise.”

“It sure as hell looksexactlylike what I’m thinking,” she snaps, glaring down at me with suspicion in her beautiful eyes.

“I said I wouldn’t lie to you, and I meant it. If I was trying to be romantic, I could do a lot better than a goddamn ring in a box.” I hold out my hand, trying to reach for her. She takes a step back. I pretend that it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.

“Angel, come here.” Huffing in annoyance, she takes a small step toward me. “Closer,” I command. The dominance in my tone seems to soothe her, and she walks forward until my nose brushes against her stomach. I inhale the sweet scent of her, and her cunt is so close I can almost taste it on the tip of my tongue. And in a few minutes, I fully intend on doing just that.

“It would probably help if I got off my fucking knees, wouldn’t it?” I ask with a sardonic laugh.

“You think?”

Clutching the box in my hand, I stand to my feet. She seems to relax the moment I’m towering over her rather than kneeling before her. “Here,” I say, shoving the box into her hand with as little ceremony as possible. After how horrified she was at the idea of me proposing, what’s inside should be a welcome relief.

“What is it?” she asks, turning the box in her hands suspiciously.

“Stop asking questions and open the damn box.”

I can tell she’s holding her breath as she flicks open the top of the box. She lets out a gasp when she sees what I picked out forher—a pair of one-carat, diamond-studded barbells set in pure gold. “They’re for your nipples,” I explain in case it wasn’t already obvious. “You said you always wanted them pierced, but you didn’t trust yourself to do it. I figured since you’ve never had any problem with me piercing your skin, you’d let me do the honors?”

Her eyes dart between me and the box in her hands, and I can’t really tell what she’s thinking. “Grey, these look ridiculously expensive,” she says finally.

“Of course they are,” I scoff. “As if you deserve anything less.”

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