Page 60 of Sinful Lord

The question hits me like a thunderbolt. My body clenches, both with arousal and fear.

I swallow.

“I… I don’t know,” I manage to rasp.

“Let’s find out.”

Without further ado, Tytus drops one of his hands from my face. It finds a new home against the small of my back. I gasp as he softly leads me down onto the bed.

“You’ve been busy,” he smirks, his gaze finding the glistening wetness on the inside of my thighs.

My initial reaction is to cross my legs and cover up the shame, but Tytus immediately plants his forearms between my knees, preventing me from hiding anything.

“If you want me to stop, just say so, angel. Do you want me to stop?”

His veiny forearm flexes and the inky tattoos that cover his skin seem to move through the blood that stains nearly every inch of him.

The sight is equal parts stunning and terrifying.

“Are… Are you okay?” I hear myself ask when my line of sight falls on the back of his closed fist.

A deep cut suggests that at least some of this blood is his.

“You should see the other guys,” he chuckles.

“Other guys? Plural?” I ask, surprised.

He nods.

“I ran into some trouble before I raced over here.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Tytus' voice is calm and collected, but not even he can seem to hide the subtle twitch that temporarily morphs his smile into a sneer.

“So that’s not all your blood, I guess…”

Tytus shakes his head. “If it was, I would be dead in some alleyway, not here. But let’s not talk about that. I can shower if you’d like?”

At first, I want to say yes, but only for one specific reason. To see him naked. But then I think about him getting up and turning away. I think about the blanket of heat he’s laid over me disappearing. I think about the desire throbbing between my legs and how it begs to be satisfied.

I think about all of that being pulled away. And I don’t think I want that.

“It’s alright…” I whisper. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen blood.”

That makes Tytus laugh. “Ah, yes, I’m sure to a mafia princess like you, blood was just another household decoration.”

“They always tried to hide it from me,” I find myself confessing. “But I was sneakier than they gave me credit for.”

“I don’t doubt it, you little runaway,” Tytus laughs.

My chest tightens. For a split-second, all I can think about is my old life; about how claustrophobic and stale it was.

This moment might be just as claustrophobic as any I’ve experienced before, but it’s anything but stale.

This is new. It’s exciting.