Empire of Sin (Empire #2) by Rina Kent

“When did you get your tattoos?” I ask, laying my head on my propped hand.

He continues unbuttoning his shirt. “Some in secondary school, but the bigger ones were after I left London or I would’ve risked being murdered by my dad.”

I smile a little at his tone. He always sounds so different and carefree whenever he speaks about his family—which can’t be said about me. “Is there a reason you chose a samurai?”

“I wanted something that represents strength, and from the sketches the artist made, I liked this the most. Probably because of the black eyes, though. They hinted at hidden darkness.”

“How about the wires?”

“No matter how strong one is, there’s always something that holds them back.” A distant look covers his eyes—pain, or memories sprinkled with pain.

I want to ask more, to learn about what possibly could hold someone like him back, but I don’t have the chance before he throws the shirt my way.

“Does this mean I can go to sleep?” I tease.

“Fuck no. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“I thought I had to be naked for that.”

“You do, but I don’t want you cold either, so you can wear that.”

I smile, putting on the shirt that swallows me and falls to the middle of my thighs. I have to roll the sleeves up to reveal my hands.

When I look up again, Knox’s eyes have darkened as they watch me with intense focus. His fingers still hover over the keyboard without typing and his jaw is clenched tight.

I sit up in case I’ve done something wrong, and that makes more cum coat my thighs because he totally didn’t let me wash up. “W-what?”

“From now on, you’ll either be naked or wear my shirt. No in-between.” There’s a raw possessiveness in his tone, a non-negotiable quality that robs me of breath.

“I can’t just wear your shirt all day.”

“No, but you can be naked.”

“Indoors.”

“For now.”

“For now?”

“I’ll find an outdoor place where you can be naked for me and only me.”

“Pervert.”

He stands up, and even though it’s not too abrupt, my heart lunges to my throat and I can’t help rubbing my thighs together.

It’s so rare to see him in his half-naked glory. His tattoos aren’t for show like they are for many people. Even the leaders of the Bratva consider it an honor to showcase their tattoos and explain what each one means, especially if it’s related to the brotherhood.

That’s not the case for Knox.

They seem to exist only for him.

He hovers over me, looking larger than life, but that doesn’t last too long when his body slowly lowers to mine.

My palms flatten on his shoulders and I suck in a sharp breath at how good he feels, shirtless, just for me.

Showing his tattoos only to me.

I never thought such a trivial thing would make me so elated, so ethereal.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I ask in a low voice, stroking my fingers on his skin like a junkie who’s toying with a drug before inhaling it.

“Not when you’re distracting as bloody hell.” He reaches a hand between my legs and a deep grunt leaves him when his fingers are coated with both our arousal. “Fuck, beautiful. Mmm. This might be my new favorite thing.”

Before I can ask what that is, he gathers his cum with two fingers and thrusts inside me. A moan rips out of me, though it shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t be feeling this turned on by the act of him smearing his seed inside me, but I am and the guttural sounds that leave me are foreign to my ears.

He does it leisurely, fucking his fingers inside me with purpose.

“You look fucking beautiful with my cum in this tight cunt.”

“Please…”

“You want more?”

My nod is barely intelligible, but he catches it and he’s about to flip me to my stomach. This is what he does when he fucks me, always from behind.

I’m used to it after all this time, but I don’t want that now. I don’t want the distance.

I want him to show me the rest of him as he did with his tattoos.

I want him. Period.

So I dig my short nails into his skin, holding on to a hope I shouldn’t be having.

I’m hoping and buzzing with wishes that have no place in whatever relationship we have.

His hand finds my hip, which is his cue to turn me onto my stomach. My nails dig into his skin and I slowly shake my head.

The thrusting of his fingers slows until it’s an agonizing ache that’s torturous. But his features darken, his eyes turning a molten hazel that’s the weirdest I’ve seen.

His hold on my hip is as tight as his face, urging me to release him, but I don’t.

I can’t.

I don’t want to.

“Let go.” It’s two words. Two single words, but they sound non-negotiable and harsh.

When I don’t, he effortlessly removes my fingers from his shoulder, then easily flips me over. My breasts flatten against the sofa and my body heats so fast that it feels like I’ve been set on fire while being doused in gasoline.

Strange energy rushes through me, demanding I kick and fight, that I hit and claw.

Something. Anything. As long as I’m not in this position, beneath him, where he doesn’t want to look at me.