Page 44 of Desperate Crimes
Nothing.
But his voice?
That dark, distorted, possessive voice is still in my head like a drug.
“Rest now. I’ll be back.”
And God help me, some twisted part of me really hopes he meant it.
Chapter Eleven-Nico Jr
Holy. Fuck.
There she is. Finally.
My breath catches as she steps out of the bathroom, barefoot and radiant, wrapped in my silk robe like it’s always belonged to her.
I knew it would suit her.
Knew the blush-pink would glow against her skin, that the hem would kiss her thighs just right, that the belt would cinch at her waist like a lover’s grip.
But nothing—nothing—prepared me for the sight of her wearing it.
Soft and sleepy, hair tousled from her fingers, curves outlined in satin and suggestion.
And beneath it?
I know what she’s wearing. Lace. Pale pink. Barely there. I chose it for her. Hung it in the bathroom like a whisper she could choose to ignore—but didn’t.
My cock throbs against my zipper.
I clench my jaw. Try to be still. Try to breathe.
But I can’t fight this anymore.
She’s in my bed. In my house. In my world.
She’s not just close.
She’s ready.
I reach up and remove my piercings—each ring, each stud, every bit of steel I wear like armor.
One by one, they come off.
The click of metal is steady. Controlled.
Then I strip off my shirt, slowly and silently, my inked-up muscles flexing in the glow of the monitors.
I don’t take off my pants.
Not yet.
The cameras follow her as she climbs onto the bed and settles against the pillows.
Innocent. Curious. Wanting.
She doesn't even know how much she’s giving away.
