Page 123 of Sinful Lord

“Woah, easy there, Melina,” Tytus says, taking my arm.

I pull away.

“Do your work,” I tell him. Looking around the distinguished room, I spot a tasteful mahogany desk by the far wall. “I won’t bother you.”

When I turn to leave, Tytus lashes out and grabs my wrist. His grip is stronger than I expected.

Still, I foolishly try to pull out of it.

It’s no use.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Tytus growls.

I whip around to face him, but the intensity of his glare is almost too much to handle.

“So what?” I question, powering through his silver-blue gaze. “I’m your captive of convenience? Something to be locked up however you desire?”

“You’re not my captive,” Tytus claims, even if we both know it’s a lie. “You’re my…”

I don’t let him finish.

“Your what?” I demand to know, frustration building.

Tytus only shakes his head.

“You’re just mine.”

But that’s not enough. All I can think about is how he fucked me in the same bed as the girl from the video. Fuck. I lost my virginity in that bed.

How many other girls have there been?

“I’m your toy,” I snort, crossing my arms. “I’m your chess piece. Your subject. You’re only keeping me around to use. For what, though? Power? Money? Revenge?”

With a hard tug, Tytus yanks me into his hard body. Even through the thick muscles that cover his chest, I can feel his heart.

It’s pounding.

“Keep talking,” he warns. “Name all of the things you think I’m using you for. I’ll burn every last one to the ground just to prove I’m only here for one reason. You.”

“I don’t buy it,” I insist, my voice breaking halfway through.

Tytus isn’t convinced. Hell, neither am I.

The comfort of his broad chest is unavoidable. Why does it feel so right to be this close to him?

I want him to hold me tighter. I want him to push me away. I want him to kiss me. Hold me down and fuck me. But I also want him to burst into a thousand tiny pieces and scatter to the wind—even if I know I’ll just spend the rest of my life collecting the bits to put back together.

“Come. Sit on my lap, angel.” Sliding his hand up the back of my skull, Tytus intertwines his fingers with my hair. “I’ll show you what daddy does for a living.”

There’s no fighting him off as I’m dragged to the mahogany desk. When Tytus sits down on the black leather chair behind it, I come with him, my ass spreading across his thick thigh.

His forearm wraps around my stomach, barring me into place as he opens up a drawer and pulls out a laptop.

“Wouldn’t you prefer if I kept painting?” I struggle to accept my fate.

Sitting on his lap just feels to good. Right now, I would rather stew in my loneliness. I want to remain angry at him.

But when he holds me like this, how can I stay mad?