Page 70 of Sins of a King
“Not everything can be solved with sex,” I gritted out.
“Barrett—”
I shoved his hands off me and tried to move away from him, but he wouldn’t let me. “I don’t want to do this.”
“It’s too late. And I need you.”
“No, you don’t. You can get anyone to do this with you. Hire someone—an actress who knows better than to ask you personal questions.” Tears began to fall, unbidden. There had been no hope of holding back my emotions. Flynn continued to shut me out and I loathed it.
His hands framed my head, forcing me to look at him. His thumbs brushed under my eyes.
“My parents died when I was fifteen in a car accident outside of Edinburgh. I went wild.”
I stopped fighting him, my body sinking against his and I waited. Waited for more.
“My godfather took me in, gave me a home, straightened me out and didn’t give up on me. I—”
I kissed him, cutting him off, wanting him to know it was enough because he was trying. That’s all I wanted—for him to try. His hands stroked along my curves as he paid homage to my neck, my arms.
His thumb gently brushed over the bite on my neck. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. Marked you.”
I sighed, finally giving him a piece of honesty. Maybe it would pave the way for something deeper. “I’m glad you did. I like looking in the mirror and seeing it. It reminds me that someone wants me.”
“I want you,” he said, his voice low. “I want you stretched out beneath me. That will happen later.”
“I should reapply my lipstick.”
“Don’t,” he commanded.
“Why?”
He took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. “When we go inside The Dominus, you need to remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not the man I’m pretending to be.”
I looked at him, curious, but I nodded.
The car stopped and our driver opened the door. Flynn got out first, straightening his black tie, and buttoning his gray suit jacket. He looked like a man ready to sit in a library and smoke a cigar, drink some brandy, and talk about investments.
He helped me out of the Rolls, settled his hand on my hip, and guided me inside. The Dominus hotel was outfitted in modern décor. Gray and white furniture that didn’t look at all comfortable, exposed steel beams, and industrial lighting. I preferred the old-world appeal of The Rex.
An attendant met us and escorted us through the stark lobby. “Mr. Marino is in the penthouse,” the attendant said, holding the elevator open.
He didn’t ride up with us, but Flynn and I still remained silent. The doors opened, and I tensed. The penthouse was filled with middle-aged men in suits and their beautiful, much younger companions. All of them wore tight revealing dresses and jewels.
“Oh,” I said softly, finally understanding why Flynn had wanted me to wear the diamond shackles and collar.
Flynn turned his mouth to my ear and said, “Don’t worry about it.”
“Campbell!” a rotund man called.
“Marino,” Flynn greeted.
Marino had a bulbous nose and his button-down shirt strained over his protruding stomach. The man clearly enjoyed food and drink. Marino had the lighter coloring of northern Italians as opposed to their darker Sicilian brethren.
“You’re late,” Marino said. “And you’ve got something on your mouth.” He smirked, his gaze finally finding me. “Ah, I can see why.”
