Page 1 of A Taste like Sin

Real monsters hide their true identities behind their polished masks. But broken little girls? We

disguise our pain with rebellion.

For instance, when faced with her father’s betrayal, in what ways might a sheltered socialite lash out?

Why, by selling her virginity to none other than said father’s sworn enemy.

And where might such a man take her in order to culminate her pain and humiliation?

To view an orgy, of course. In all fairness, I all but dared him to.

Distract mewas the challenge I proposed to Damien Villa after spending forty-eight hours locked

inside my apartment. It’s only fitting that he picked his favorite arena to amuse me within—as well as

to reinforce the bargain we’ve struck: I’ve sold my virginity to him for a dangerous price.His

company.

“You’re shaking, Ms. Thorne,” Damien acknowledges, his coarse tone like velvet against my

eardrum. He’s seated on a leather chair beside the identical one I’m perched on the edge of. Only a

sliver of space separates us and, this close, his heat is a cruel, mocking taste of what I can’t seem to

feel: anything.

The aftermath of Heyworth’s deception has rendered me hollow.

Empty.

Numb.

Though my nails dig into my palms—I’m clenching them that tightly—nothing cuts through the fog in

my brain. Nothing excepthisvoice.

“I can smell the sweat on your skin,” he says, utilizing his skills of perception the way an assassin

would a knife. To reinforce that comparison, the blindfold obscuring his vision is the same ebony

shade as his suit, helping him cut a chilling figure against the blood-colored backdrop. “If you are

nervous, we can leave. I’m sure I can devise another form of entertainment.”

“N-No.” The appearance of an easy out makes me shudder—this man, despite how short a time I’ve

known him, doesn’t strike me as the merciful type. More devilish if anything.

Because we’ve made a deal, he and I. It’s only fitting that he brought me to Hell in order to honor that

pact.

To be fair, his version of Hell is a stylish affair. Scarlet walls enclose a private booth resembling one

that might be found in an opera house. Admittedly, an opera house that stars naked performers

writhing upon black silken sheets rather than a stage.