Empire of Sin (Empire #2) by Rina Kent

As angry as he deep-throated me.

I didn’t think I would ever be that type, the one who gets off on violence and being handled roughly, but I should have known better.

I really, really should have.

Ever since I was a teen, I’ve been having nightmares about being held down and ravished. Then I wake up drenched in sweat and with a strange sensation between my legs.

That’s when I should’ve known it wasn’t really a nightmare but a fantasy. A dangerous, deadly one.

And the evidence is that I can’t stop thinking about it.

It wasn’t part of my plan, but it happened, and now, I can’t get rid of the memory. Time is supposed to make me forget, isn’t it? It’s supposed to wipe my memories clean of him, his callous touch, and the scent of his cologne.

But that’s the exact opposite of what’s happened. Ever since that night, he’s magnified to lengths I can’t control. He’s become the taboo subject that I pictured before I went to sleep and then hoped no one knew what I was thinking.

Or what I’ve done.

It’s over, Ana. You’re a new person now.

I keep telling myself that as I dive back into work. I start messing around, creating a mock-up of a security system that could be accessible to everyone.

I’m good at that. Systems. It’s not only the perfect way to keep my plans intact, but I can also use them as a façade to appear flawless on the outside despite having broken insides.

My grandmother once told me that imperfect people create perfection and I’m starting to take her words to heart.

At the end of the day, I leave last to avoid the rush of people. Thankfully, when I take the elevator, there’s no one in it and I can breathe properly.

The doors open a few floors below and I pray there aren’t too many people. My social anxiety and I had a field day today and we just need to go back to our small apartment and hide for an eternity.

Or at least, until tomorrow.

My hold falters on the strap of my laptop bag when my gaze clashes with the same one I’ve been dreaming about for the past two weeks.

The same stranger I left in that hotel room but can’t stop thinking about.

My only one-night stand that I shouldn’t have met again.

And he’s staring straight through me.





5





ANASTASIA





This isn’t real.

I must be hallucinating.

Or maybe I’m dreaming again, stuck in an imaginary moment and never woke up this morning.

But the more I stare at the man in front of me, the more tangible this becomes. He’s not disappearing.

Why isn’t he disappearing?

He usually vanishes about now. He becomes one with my dreams and stops bothering me.

Not now, though.

Now he’s coming inside the elevator—where I currently am.

Oh, shit.

The need to run hits me out of nowhere and it takes everything in me not to jump out of the elevator like a monkey.

My mission is put to an abrupt halt when the doors slide closed with brutal finality. Now, it’s only he and I in the car.

And I can’t breathe.

Damn it. Damn it.

Listen, brain, this is about the worst time for your meltdown. Help me out here, please.

I inhale deeply through my nostrils and exhale through my mouth a few times. That’s it.

The buzzing in my ears slowly subsides, and it helps that he faces the door, cutting off that intense eye contact. Or maybe I’m the only one who thought of it as intense.

His back is the only thing visible as he focuses on his phone and scrolls through it.

I’ve forgotten how larger than life he looks, how broad and tall he is. How physically perfect he is that it’s impossible to focus on anything but him. He’s wearing another Armani suit, dark gray, like the expression on his face when he walked in.

It’s been only a few seconds since then, but I could swear that he saw me, that he made eye contact. Did he not recognize me?

It must be the different clothes, hair, and thick glasses. Right. He couldn’t possibly relate Anastasia to Jane. We’re not the same anymore.

A brick the size of my laptop sinks to the bottom of my stomach, and it’s completely illogical. I shouldn’t be feeling this way because he didn’t recognize me. If anything, I should celebrate it. I should feel lucky.

But that’s the last sensation inside me as I dig my nails into the heel of my palm.

Then I peek at him, at the stranger from that night, and I’m once again struck by his majestic presence. He seems different than back then somehow, more serious, hard. Stuck-up.

And I can’t help thinking about his dominant orders when he fucked me.

Those dirty, dirty orders that subconsciously make me clench my thighs.

I internally shake my head in an attempt to push those images away.

What’s he doing at W&S anyway? Please tell me he’s only here on a visit and doesn’t actually work in the same building as me.

That would be just…cruel.

Just when I’ve left everything behind, something has decided to follow me. And not just something. Someone.

The British stranger who should be in New Jersey where I left him after he fucked me senseless.

“Do you work here?”

I jolt at the deep tenor of his voice, and an electric sensation zaps through my entire body. I almost forgot just how commanding his voice is, how it’s a bit mellow and cool to the ears.