Empire of Sin (Empire #2) by Rina Kent

It’s not in my good-girl genes to want this, but I can’t help the subconscious tremors rushing through me.

His teeth find my earlobe and he bites down. I’m drunk on the scent of his cologne, the discreet yet mystic quality to it, just like that forest from my childhood.

Logically, I should’ve stayed away from it and him, but I can’t.

I won’t.

I’m held hostage by his relentless grip and savage beauty. The type of beauty I didn’t know I was attracted to until tonight.

He’s still licking my earlobe, nibbling, assaulting it with his tongue, when he whispers, “Now, tell me, beautiful. Do you believe it’s a good idea to come with a complete stranger into a hotel room and not ask for his name?”

Shit.

Please don’t tell me he actually knows my family? Is this an attempt to lure me into a trap and expose me?

I put a halt to those thoughts before they occupy me. I’m just being paranoid.

That’s it. Paranoia and my inability to cope with it.

So I whisper, “I like it.”

“What do you like?”

“The no-strings-attached part.”

“I like that, too, but do you know what I like about it the most?”

“What?” My voice is too breathy and it has everything to do with his hold on me, with the way his thumb grazes my pulse point and pushes down as if emphasizing it.

“That I can do whatever I want.” His voice becomes raspy and it’s grabbing me in a chokehold, or maybe it’s his words.

Maybe it’s a combination of both.

Either way, I’m trapped in a state I’ve never experienced, and for the life of me, I can’t decide whether that’s good or bad.

All I know is that not knowing his name and deciding this is a one-time thing makes me lose all my inhibitions.

“You’ll let me, won’t you, beautiful?”

“Yeah…” I trail off because I wasn’t thinking when I agreed. Or maybe I haven’t been thinking during this whole night. I want to blame it on the alcohol, but who am I kidding? It’s not the vodka that’s flowing through my veins right now. It’s him.

Everything about him.

“Good.” He laps his tongue on the shell of my ear. “Now, tell me, are you a virgin?”

The sudden question freezes my limbs and causes my pulse to roar and throb in my veins, right beneath his hold.

“Why are you asking?” I speak so low, I’m surprised he can hear me.

“I don’t do virgins.”

“Why not?”

“They’re a hassle I don’t care for. Answer the question. Are you?”

“No,” I whisper and hope he takes it as if I’m too overwhelmed with sensations, not something else.

I think it works, because he’s pushing his knee between my thighs. “Open your legs.”

It’s nearly impossible to do so with his presence at my back, possessing me, holding me hostage, but I manage to shuffle my legs a little.

Still holding my nape with one hand, his other one reaches under my dress and I release a gasp when he cups my needy core.

“Fuck. You came ready.”

My nerve endings pulse at the arousal in his tone, at how absolutely sinful he sounds when he’s taken off guard.

And he’s right, I did come ready and he’s touching my bare pussy right now. When I made the decision to forgo panties, I thought I would have a quickie and go home. That’s still the plan.

But something tells me he won’t honor my plan. He’ll bulldoze through it, shred it apart, and feed it to me, won’t he? It’s that intensity of his that I feel with every brush of his skin on mine.

Intensity can’t be planned. Which is why I shouldn’t have chosen him. But I did, and I couldn’t stop this even if I wanted to.

And a deep part of me rejects that option anyway.

“Are you perhaps an escort?” He slides his fingers against my wet folds, making them wetter and more sensitive. “But you would’ve said that if you were, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe I’m doing pro bono work tonight.”

I meant it as a jab, but he chuckles again. It’s unnerving, how charming he can get, even though he has sharp edges. It’s not supposed to be like this. Charming people don’t have the intensity of the men I’ve known my entire life.

And the combination of both is dangerous, terrifying even.

But my body doesn’t seem to care about that fact, because the moment he thrusts a finger inside me, I go on my tiptoes, stifling a moan.

“You have a mouth on you,” he rasps, driving his finger deeper.

“Yeah, and I’m not afraid to use it.” Not really, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Does that mean you’ll choke on my dick and let me come down that pretty throat?”

I choke, but it’s on my barely existent drool. I’m thinking of a comeback when he thrusts an additional finger and tightens his hold on my nape.

I go still, afraid to move or even breathe. Holy fucking shit. It’s full, so full that I think I’ll burst with the sensation. I’ve done this to myself before, but it’s never felt this…overwhelming.

It’s only two fingers.

His fingers that are as hard and sharp as the man himself. But what makes my arousal worse is how he grabs my neck as if he has every right to, how he presses on my pulse point, controlling my shaky, chopped breathing.