Page 57 of Chicago Sin

“I guess… I like roses,” I say. “Red ones.” I’m not sure if I would have said that answer if I wasn’t put on the spot.

“I would have guessed that,” he says. “You have the personality of a rose.”

My breath catches in my throat. “And what’s that?”

“Strong, beautiful and demands attention.”

“I don’t demand attention,” I say, surprised by his words.

“You should.” He pins me with a gaze that makes my tummy flutter. “Never settle for anything else.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Do you have a favorite flower?”

“Whatever one makes you happy. That would be mine.”

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t say the words in a way meant to charm me or woo me. They are simple, direct, and silencing. I don’t know how to respond to this man.

So instead, I continue eating, as does he. Though we say very little, I’m comforted by his presence and the sound of his knife and fork against the plate. I shouldn’t be reading into his words or his actions, and yet, I can’t help myself.

When we finish, he helps me clean up just as efficiently as he does everything. It’s like we’re playing house, standing side by side washing dishes and putting them away. The only sound in the room is the running water and the meows of Shadow begging for chicken scraps.

I’m surprised when Armando kneels down and gives the cat a bite from his fingers. “That’s it for now. It’s rich,” he says to the kitten as Shadow licks every last bit of juice from Armondo’s beefy fingers.

He then takes his toothbrush and other toiletries off the counter and heads to the bathroom. I’m left feeling… odd. I don’t know how to process everything going on and the rush of emotions both good and bad flowing through me. But I need to find my phone. I might have messages that need answering. I can’t stand that he won’t give it to me.

I search the high cupboards because that’s where he stowed my purse last night. No dice.

Then I see it. It’s on top of the refrigerator, pushed way to the back behind the floral baskets I have stacked there. It amuses me that he hides it up high. Like I’m some little girl who can’t reach.

Okay, actually, I can’t reach because I’m short, but I put one knee up on the counter and reach. I fish out my phone and check the texts.

There’s two. One from my mom, asking if I’m coming to dinner tomorrow, and one from Josie, telling me she’ll be late Monday.

Not asking. Telling.

Sigh. Another problem I’m sticking my head in the sand about.

I start to reply when I hear Armando curse.

He storms at me, but I don’t flinch. Yes, he’s capable of hurting me. He’s violent. Dangerous. But there’s thought and control behind the violence. And I’m fairly certain he has rules about hurting women. As in, he won’t. And frankly, if he was going to hurt me, he would have done it by now.

“What the fuck, Hannah?” he snatches the phone out of my hand, his brows in a deep V as he scrolls over my screens. “Who did you message?”

“Nobody.” I let my irritation show. I lift my chin at the phone. “Check it yourself.”

His thumb flies over the screen as he checks my phone log, too. “You could’ve sent one and erased it.”

“I need my fucking phone, Armando.” I let myself sound bitchy because it’s a better alternative to allowing him to bully me or showing fear.

He shakes his head and shoves the phone in his back pocket. “That’s not how this works, and you know it, Flowers.” He catches my wrists and pins me with a dark gaze. “I trust you and leave for one minute… And now you’re in big trouble with me.”

Big trouble.

Why does that make my belly flip flop with excitement?

Because I already know I like his punishments. He spins me around and slaps my hands on the refrigerator, then pulls my hips back to bend me at the waist. My wrists are manacled under one of his meaty palms.

I’m prepared for the slap when it comes, but it’s harder than I expect, and I gasp. He smacks my other butt cheek just as hard, then yanks my minidress up to my armpits. He spanks my ass some more over my panties.