Page 131 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“Would you rather drown?”

I’m dumbfounded as I look down at the elegant swimsuit. I’ve never actually worn one before. I’ve never needed to. Back on the compound, there was no body of water big enough to require it.

“I… I…”

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Phoenix snaps. “So get changed. There’s a bathroom down the hall you can use. Meet me by the pool when you’re decent.”

Before I can say another word, he opens the sliding doors and walks out towards the pool. I stand there gaping at him for a few seconds. Then, as though on autopilot, I turn and head for the bathroom down the hall.

The bathroom, like everything else in Phoenix’s mansion, is massive and ornate. All gleaming marble and fluffy white towels, with a faint scent of lavender floating through the air.

With trembling fingers, I strip out of my clothes and step into the bathing suit. Once it’s on, I turn to my reflection in the mirror.

Immediately, my cheeks flame. I’ve never felt so on display. The cut rides high over my hips, making my legs look supermodel-long, and the plunging neckline presses my breasts up while barely covering my nipples.

For a one-piece, it’s awfully revealing.

It’s also pretty sexy.

But am I the kind of woman who wears something like this? No, not by a long shot. I’ve seen billboards in the city, advertisements in the magazine, those kinds of things, where women wear bathing suits like this. And those women are never anything like me.

They’re always laughing and sipping some fruity drink. Flaunting their tans and their happiness and their freedom.

But I’m not free. I’ve never been free.

What choice do I have, though? I’m in Phoenix’s house, playing by Phoenix’s rules. So I swallow down my self-consciousness, wrap myself in a huge white towel, and head for the pool.

Phoenix is already in the water when I arrive. He’s discarded his clothes for a pair of swimming trunks in a deep, sea green.

The first thing I notice is his chiseled chest. His abs are shielded by the water, but I can still see definition and a bronze tan. Droplets of water cling to his chest hair.

He looks like something out of a dream.

He raises his eyebrows when I approach. “You’ll need to remove the towel before you get in,” he drawls as if I’m stupid.

I glare at him. “Couldn’t you have gotten me a different swimsuit?”

I regret it the moment the words are out of my mouth. Now, I’ve gone and drawn attention to what I’m wearing. I’m positive he’d have noticed either way, though. I swear I catch him looking at me almost as much as I look at him.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“It’s… revealing.”

“It’s a one-piece,” he replies.

“Bikinis aren’t the only swimwear that can be sexy, you realize.”

He smirks. “Do you have a problem with looking sexy, little lamb?”

This conversation is looking more and more like a mistake. “Never mind. Can we just get this over with?”

“Sure. Just get rid of the towel and we’ll begin.”

I turn my back on him, gritting my teeth and trying to steel my courage. My heart is hammering hard, and I can practically hear it.

I’m aware that it’s ridiculous to be so self-conscious. He’s seen me naked. He’s been inside me, for God’s sake!

But somehow, the new dynamic between us has me feeling incredibly insecure. I bite down and decide to just rip the Band-Aid off.

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