Page 46 of Desperate Crimes
I don’t just mean for the night.
I mean forever.
I want to keep her. To claim her. To own her.
“Hello?” she repeats, louder now.
One single word and I’m undone.
I step closer, slowly.
My voice comes low, rough, thick with hunger.
No more modulator.
Just me. Cloaked in the darkness I belong to.
“Look at you,” I say, my tone dark, voice deep like smoke and sin and vows I mean to keep. “In my bed. Dressed in silk and lace.”
She stills.
I hear the faint hitch in her breath.
Anticipatory desire slithers through my veins.
Like a serpent uncoiling from its hiding place—slow, deliberate, ancient.
It wraps around my spine, coils in my belly, flicks its tongue behind my ribs.
Hot and low and dangerous.
“Have you been waiting for me, Princess?”
She gasps.
God, that sound.
It rushes straight to my cock, thickens the air between us, makes my blood roar in my ears.
She’s trying to steady herself, I can feel it—taste it in the way her breath stalls.
“Who are you?” she whispers.
Voice breathy, unsure.
And, fuck me, it’s adorable that she thinks she’s the one asking the questions.
I smirk.
“Nuh uh,” I say, low and even. I take a step closer, letting the tension stretch like wire between us. “That’s not the question I asked.”
Her breath hitches again. She’s close to unraveling, and I haven’t even touched her.
Not yet.
“Now, tell me,” I murmur. “How many boys pretending to be men have you let taste you?”
She flinches. Doesn’t answer.
