Page 22 of A Taste like Sin

and your private life and I doubt you even know how to break it. Because of him.”

He doesn’t say the name. I flinch regardless—and the round bead on my breastbone shifts, threatening

to roll off. Holding my breath is the only way to keep it still.

“He hurt you, didn’t he?” There’s an uncharacteristic softness to his baritone. “In more ways than

killing your friend.”

No.I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale, heedless of the way the pearls on my body lurch in response. A

frantic sound builds up in my throat but doesn’t escape my mouth. Yet. A plea.Please don’t.

“I’m not mocking you,” he clarifies like it matters—but the gruff, bitter note in his voice makes me

bite back a scoff. “Your limits. Your fears.Thoseare the things I must know before I can fully take

what you wagered. I refuse to traumatize you, for lack of a better word. Despite what happens

between us, I have no intention of harming you.”

And perhaps that’s why he claimed to be willing to offer up anything in advance. The price of my

deepest, darkest secrets is one worth paying to a man like him.

So that he can use my past against me?

“I believe the best course of action would be to have you demonstrate for me,” he muses amid the

scrape of the brush on the canvas. “Where to touch you. How. Exhibition seems to be one of your

defining traits. I’m sure you’d enjoy the experience more than I—”

“You’re insane.”Ping!The musical sound chimes a faint warning as my lips part again. “You

wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t what?” he murmurs.

With my mouth free, I don’t hold back. “Take me to your creepy little club,” I spit hoarsely. “Make

me…in front of—”

“You think I meant publicly? Oh, no. Some experiences should remain private between two

individuals. Like how you sound in the throes of an orgasm.Sí…” A grated sound resonates in his

throat. “The members of my club don’t pay nearly enough to partake in that kind of entertainment.”

“Why even own a club like that?” I spit without parsing the possession evident in that statement. A

nefarious reason worms into my brain. “Do you participate in the ‘entertainment’ yourself perhaps? At

an owner’s discount?”

“¿Qué?” Another heartless laugh conveys he’s anything but insulted. “No. I am afraid the true reason

is rather boring, Ms. Thorne: leverage.”