Page 88 of A Taste like Sin

private space.” An amused voice, slightly accented, drips into my ear like liquid sin and a breath I

didn’t realize I was holding escapes in a gasp. “You were in my bed,” he adds, lingering over the

possessive term. “I’m disappointed you chose not to stay there.”

“I…” I grit my teeth to keep from gasping again. “I thought you were in the middle of business, Mr.

Villa—”

“I am,” he says. In the background, I hear men’s voices, discussing some unknown topic. “But when

more important matters come across my radar, I must give them my full attention. I sincerely hope you

enjoyed the comfort of the mattress. I fully intend to ensure you experience it thoroughly.”

“If only you weren’t so damn busy.” I feign a strained sigh as thunder rumbles, sounding fainter

compared to the tenor of his voice. More lightning flashes as if fighting for my attention. “I’m sure

you’ll be tied up for most of the night.”

“Unfortunately, yes…” He sounds wary. Oh my, I wonder why.

“That’s too bad,” I exhale, distantly aware of rain lashing at the window. “If you were here, I’d let

you help me experience the comfort of your bed firsthand.”

“Oh?” His tone falls flat, suddenly cold. Maybe the change in demeanor has something to do with

how heavily I’m breathing into the receiver? I’ll hate myself for this later. I know I will.

But when he speaks, he’s louder than thunder. Even whispered and hushed, his voice outlasts the rain.

I’ll take it over silence, and later, I’ll lament over how pathetic that makes me.

“Yes. I’m sure we could give your precious mattress a thorough ‘testing.’ Maybe I’d even let you taste

what I know you can’t stop thinking about since the other night.” God, did those words come from

me? Apparently so.

Harsh, heavy breaths fan into the speaker, distorting all other noise. “Is that so?”

“Sí.” I try to mimic the sultry tones of his accent—a low grunt from his end is my reward. I roll onto

my back, ignoring what my free hand does as I let it drift along my thigh—but my body’s reaction

betrays me. My breathing falters. Then quickens to match the suddenly rapid rate of his. “Very much

so.” My fingers make contact with sensitive flesh, which draws a moan from me that isn’t faked. Isn’t

part of the game.

“Damn.” His teeth clip the word. “I’m giving your proposal serious consideration.”

“If only you were here…” Another brush of my finger over heated skin elicits another moan voiced

into the speaker. Thunder. Flashing. Darkness. All of it threatens to ruin the facade even the illusion of