King of Greed (Kings of Sin #3) by Ana Huang

A thousand knots were preferable to a second heartbreak.

Dominic watched me without moving. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but tension lined his jaw like he was afraid he would scare me off if he made one wrong gesture.

“Why do men always resort to violence?” I asked, attempting to lighten the static cloaking the air. “Therapy exists, you know.”

“Our problems go beyond therapy. Besides, I’m not the only one who’s bruised.” Satisfaction filled Dominic’s face, but his eyes softened when my fingers trailed over another bruise on his jaw.

I shook my head. Men. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

My movements stilled. Silence floated between us before I dropped my arm. “Well, I hope you’re icing it regularly,” I said, skirting his reply. “Purple-black doesn’t look good with your suits.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up. “Noted.”

We walked deeper into the gallery, which featured a whimsical glass flower exhibition by Yumi Hayashi. Visiting one of her exhibits had been on my bucket list for years, but the dates never lined up with my schedule, and I’d been so distracted by the divorce and store opening I hadn’t realized there was a new show this winter.

“I’m surprised you asked me to meet you here,” I said. “You’re not an art person.”

I’d chosen all the art in the penthouse. Dominic was a genius with numbers, but if I’d left the décor up to him, the penthouse would’ve made a chessboard look colorful.

“I’m not, but I thought this particular exhibit would be good inspiration,” Dominic said. “In case you need it for your projects.”

Warmth curled in my stomach. He could be so damn sweet when he wanted. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His soft, intimate murmur ghosted down my spine.

The earlier electricity returned, sending tiny zips through my chest until I dragged a much-needed breath into my lungs. “I guess it’s not a popular exhibition,” I said, trying desperately not to notice the way his body heat sank into my skin or the brush of his shirt against my arm. “There’s no one else here.”

“I hired out the gallery.” Dominic pushed a hand into his pocket. “It’s better without the crowds, and I wanted to be alone with you.”

I couldn’t summon an adequate reply to that.

The exhibition consisted of seven rooms, each themed around the flora of different regions. I didn’t speak again until we reached the seventh and final exhibit featuring flowers native to Asia.

“About what happened at the gala.” I stopped in front of a giant lotus lantern. It was the room’s only source of light, but it was enough to illuminate the tension lining Dominic’s shoulders. “I…” The right words fought to escape. “I can’t promise anything more than sex.”

He was the only man who could set me on fire with one touch. Denying our attraction was futile, and my pre-Christmas dry spell had been torturous. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed physical touch until I received it.

Was entering a sex-only relationship with my ex-husband a terrible idea? Absolutely. But we were already on this ride; I might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

Dominic’s eyes flickered in the dim lights. “I can work with that.”

That’s it? I wasn’t sure whether my next breath contained relief or disappointment. I’d expected him to push back, but he seemed willing to follow my guidelines.

However, surprise tripped my heartbeats when Dominic slowly moved behind me. Silence thrummed and held me captive as his warm breath trailed sensation down my spine and his fingers traced up my arms.

My back brushed his front, and the hairs on the nape of my neck rose in anticipation. It hurt to be this close to him, to feel the intimacy that we’d lost. Every rise and fall of his chest caused mine to clench; every beat of our hearts hammered home a reminder.

He hurt you.

You left him.

He’s still here.

You want him.

He hasn’t given up.

What if, what if, what if.

All true, even if one conflicted with another.

Goose bumps shivered across my skin when he kissed my neck. The memory of his lips against my skin was the sweetest torture, soft yet firm, gentle yet commanding.

“What do you want, amor?” he whispered.

Our breaths echoed as he waited. Dominic never waited. He was action and movement and command. I was the one who’d always waited. I waited for dinners that we never shared and evenings together that never came.

What do I want? I wanted agency, which I’d lacked so often in our marriage. I’d walked tthe tightrope of dutiful wife and desire for years, and I wanted a world where I made the rules for myself instead of merely following them.

I can only promise sex.

My first implicit rule. Perhaps tonight was the night to implement it on my terms.

My heartbeats fluttered as I ran my hands across his shoulders and slowly lowered his jacket off his chest. Surprise flared on his face, but he followed my cue and slid it down his arms, folding it to the side of him. He rolled his shirtsleeves up with careful, measured movements, never taking his eyes off mine. With every flick of his wrist, the wedding band on his left hand glinted in the dim lights.