Empire of Sin (Empire #2) by Rina Kent

“You can watch. I don’t mind.”

British. The accent that’s spoken near my ear is sinfully British, and now, I’m about to choke on my spit because no one has ever been this close to me aside from my family.

No one.

But instead of bolting, I freeze. Or, more like, I’m frozen by the sudden attack. Logically, I realize this isn’t in fact an attack and that I’m exaggerating, but my brain doesn’t recognize that. It’s trapped in a static state and all I can do is slowly lift my head.

I’m not ready for how impossibly close he is, how those eyes are shining, more inwardly than outwardly. And why is he so close, again? Or maybe I’m imagining it because my heartbeat is throbbing in my throat. “Excuse me?”

“I said you can watch, beautiful. I’m better to look at than your drink.”

Arrogant. Okay. One point to deduct from the perfect score.

Though he really shouldn’t have called me beautiful with that illegal accent of his. It might have added a few more points that even I don’t approve of.

“I happen to love my vodka, but thanks for the offer.” I sound confident and in my element, when I am, in fact, shaken to the bones by his presence.

His infuriately attractive presence.

The bottom of my belly contracts in short intervals, and I’m going to bet it’s not due to the alcohol.

“Does that mean I have to compete with your drink?” There’s a unique quality to the way he speaks, a bit amused, a bit flirtatious, and so assertive, I hate him a little for it.

Why do some people get to play the social game so well while others, like me, can barely get words out?

“Why would you?”

“Why do you think? For your attention.” His voice drops at the end and so does my stomach. The sensation is so novel that I can’t fathom it.

My neck and cheeks heat and the butterfly pendant feels like lava on my skin. “You want my attention?”

“Amongst other things.”

“Like?”

He takes a sip of his whiskey, but his intense eyes haven’t left mine long after his Adam’s apple bobs with the swallow. I can’t help gulping the saliva gathered in my mouth as well, then taking a drink. Either the alcohol is loosening my nerves or there’s something wrong with me since I can’t stop staring at him.

At the way he seems confident in his own skin, unlike me, or the way he takes each action with a simmering control that I feel but can’t see.

After he’s finished, the British stranger places his elbow on the bar, which allows him to get close. So close that I smell his cologne. A mixture of lime, clean laundry and male musk. It’s not strong, but it’s as lulling as his presence, trapping me in the confinements of its walls.

The space between us becomes nonexistent when he turns sideways and his breath skims the shell of my ear. It takes everything in me not to go into flight mode, considering how much of an expert I am at that.

But not tonight.

Tonight is different.

“Like making you squirm.” The whisper of his words makes me shudder. It’s a full-body one that I can’t suppress, despite my attempts.

I don’t know where I get the courage to ask, “That’s all?”

“Oh, I can do so much more.” He licks the shell of my ear and I bite my tongue to suppress a moan.

Holy shit. It’s like I’m on an aphrodisiac. One touch and I melt. One touch and I’m wiggling and clenching my thighs in search of something. What, I have no clue.

Due to being hidden my whole life, everything feels heightened and unreal. As if I left my own body and I’m existing in a different reality.

Just like I planned for this night to be.

“How old are you?” His question is sensual, low-pitched, and makes me shudder again.

“Twenty-three,” I lie, because he looks to be in his early thirties and I don’t want to appear too young.

“Hmm.” There’s a vibration in his voice as his tongue lowers to the hollow of my throat. And holy hell, it’s like he licked my pussy, because it’s wet now. My pussy, not my neck.

Okay, maybe my neck, too, but it’s my core that’s throbbing for more.

As if knowing exactly what that does to me, he flicks his tongue across the same spot and bites down.

Oh, fuck.

I jam my legs shut, afraid that he’ll see how desperate I am for this. How much I need it before I disappear.

It’s my “fuck you” to the people who intended to use this part of me to marry me off to the first influential man who comes knocking on our door.

He continues his assault on my throat and his hand skims to my back, my bare back. His skin is similar to fire. A scorching one and he’s about to melt me with it, maybe scathe me, maybe drag me to the pits of hell.

“W-what about you?” I ask, assuming that’s what’s expected in these types of conversations.

Though this can hardly be called a conversation now that his fingers are toying with my butterfly pendant and my flesh at the same time.

“Twenty-eight.”

A shudder zips down my spine and it has less to do with his age and more to do with his touch and his voice. Seriously, no voice should be as sinfully attractive as his.

It’s like the devil’s—whispering and lulling me to my damnation.

“What’s your name?” His hot breaths against my throat and his possessive hold on my back send sparks through my whole body.