Page 3 of A Taste like Sin

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emotions, even as I try to ignore them. “You have every right to express it.”

“Do I?” I tilt my head thoughtfully, blinking back a burning sting from my eyes.

The loss of a loved one is an awful, ripping kind of pain. I’ve suffered it before—and I should be

able to survive anything after that.

But I was wrong. Sowrong.

My birth parents were absentee, barely imprinted in my memory—but Heyworth Thorne is myfather.

My mentor. My protector. My hero.

And beneath his well-crafted mask, he is little more than a fraud.

And a liar.

“Several,” Damien says, shrugging the question off. Before I can command him to elaborate, he

inclines his head toward the balcony. A not-so-subtle reference to the high-pitched moan emanating

from below. “I must admit I’m curious as to the act encouraging our current soundtrack. Would you

kindly narrate?”

I lean forward just enough to view the trio again. “They’re fingering the woman,” I dryly convey. “It

looks rather uncomfortable, if I do say so myself—”

“Oh?” He laughs while copying my movements, his breath on my throat. “Do add some more theatrics

to your descriptions, Ms. Thorne. I would like to visualize the scene, if you will. Is it one finger or

two?”

I stiffen. Only he could pleasantly request something so obscene yet make it seem tempting to comply.

“They’re…positioning her,” I say. “On her hands and knees. The taller one is looming over her from

behind and—”

“Ah, but what is she feeling?” As if such a thing could be discerned just at a glance.

Surprisingly, I think it can be as the woman in question arches her back into the taller man while

brushing her fingers along the chest of the other.

“She’s not ashamed,” I hear myself croak. “I think…she’s enjoying it.”

“Is that so?” He’s even closer, his scent flooding my nostrils with every breath I take. Wine. Cologne.

Sin. My eyelids flutter as my gaze darts from the show to him and back again. “How could someone

enjoysomething so vulgar?”

“Her eyes are wide,” I admit. “She’s trembling. Moaning. I suppose you can hear the rest.”

“That I can.”

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