King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

It was the type of night that lulled people into drowsy disclosures and deep sleeps.

For me, it had the opposite effect. Energy buzzed like a live wire under my skin, heightening all my senses and setting me on edge.

“How much did your family change after your father’s business took off?”

We’d touched on the topic after our engagement shoot, but she hadn’t gone in depth about it beyond the arranged marriage expectations.

Since neither of us could sleep, I might as well try to get some intel out of Vivian. Plus, the conversation kept my mind off other, more impure thoughts.

“A lot,” she said. “One day, Agnes and I were attending public schools and eating school lunch. The next, we were at a fancy private academy with gourmet chefs and students showing up in chauffeured limos. Everything changed—our clothes, our house, our friends. Our family. At first, I loved it because what child wouldn’t love dressing up and having new toys? But…”

She drew in a deep breath. “The older I got, the more I realized how much money changed us. Not just materially, but spiritually, for lack of a better word. We were new money, but my parents were desperate to prove we were just as good as Boston’s old-money elite. There’s a difference, you know.”

I knew. Hierarchies existed even—especially—in the world of the rich and powerful.

“The desire for validation consumed them, especially my father,” Vivian said. “I can’t pinpoint the exact turning point, but I woke up one morning and the funny, caring man who’d carried me on his shoulders when I was a little girl and helped me build sandcastles on the beach was gone. In his place was someone who would do anything to reach the top of the social ladder.”

If she only knew.

“I’m not complaining,” she continued. “I know how lucky I am to have been raised with the money we had. But sometimes…” Another, more wistful breath. “I wonder if we would’ve been happier had Lau Jewels stayed a tiny shop on a side street in Boston.”

Jesus. An unfamiliar ache settled in my chest.

She and Francis shared the same blood. How could they be so damn different?

“Sorry for rambling.” She sounded embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to talk your ear off about my family.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Her words were sad, but her voice was so sweet I could listen to it forever. “This beats counting sheep.”

Her laugh carried into the night like a soft melody. “Are you saying I’m putting you to sleep?”

Our legs brushed, and my muscles tensed at the brief contact.

I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten.

Against my better judgment, I turned my head to find her doing the same. Our gazes met, and the rhythm of our breaths splintered into something more jagged.

“Trust me,” I said quietly. “Of all the things you do to me, putting me to sleep isn’t one of them.”

Moonlight kissed the curves of Vivian’s face, accentuating the hollows of her cheekbones and the sensual fullness of her lips. Her eyes shone dark and luminous, like precious stones gleaming in the night.

Surprise glinted in their depths at my words, along with a smoky wisp of desire that made heat curl in my groin.

I hadn’t touched her since our tryst in Valhalla’s library, but all I wanted in that moment was to see those eyes darken with pleasure again. To feel the softness of her body pressed against mine and hear her breathy little cries when she climaxed against me.

My blood pounded in my ears.

The breeze from the vents grew hotter, the air thicker.

The electricity from dinner returned and stretched the moment into one long, perfect thread of tension.

“We should go to sleep,” Vivian breathed. There was a slight shake in her voice. “It’s late.”

“Agreed.”

For a suspended moment, neither of us moved.

Then another boom of thunder crashed in the distance, and the tension exploded with the force of a lit match in a barrel of gasoline.

My mouth crashed down on hers, and her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me flush against her. A low moan vibrated against my mouth when I rolled on top of her and pinned her hips between my thighs.

Raw desire took over, eradicating thoughts of anything except Vivian.

No Francis. No Luca. No blackmail. Just her.

I stroked my tongue against the seam of her lips, tasting her, demanding entry. They parted, and the heady, intoxicating taste of her coated my tongue.

I cupped the back of her neck and angled her head so I could deepen the kiss.

Her hands sank into my hair; my palm swept beneath her top and over her stomach.

We kissed like we were drowning, and the other person was our only source of oxygen. Wild. Frantic. Desperate.

And it still wasn’t enough.

I needed more of it. More of her.

“Dante.” Her soft cry when I cupped her breast almost undid me.

“Keep screaming my name, sweetheart.” I kissed my way down her neck and chest, eager to map every inch of her body with my mouth. I closed my mouth around a clothed, peaked nipple and pinched the other between my thumb and forefinger, eliciting another moan of my name.

Approval rumbled in my chest. “That’s a good girl.”

I made my way down her stomach to her thighs, my journey languid despite the need raging through me.