Page 42 of Convict's Game

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“We’ve got a wait on our hands. I have ideas.”

My cheeks warmed.

He grinned. “You took my virginity. Stop acting like you’ve never thought about my dick.”

“You are not inexperienced.”

He shrugged. “Actually, considering my amnesia, I’m technically a born-again virgin. Except for you, Mila, destroyer of my reset button.”

“You don’t remember sex?”

“Nope. Other than this evening. I know you want me as much as I want you. Admit it.”

My exhale came out shaky. “I confess I’m curious about how much I affect you. But you make me nervous.”

“You’re scared of me? Same, same. But I have a solution. Here’s me, shackled and shirtless, ready for your TED Talk. Or your thighs.”

While I tripped up over the notion that the confident, impulsive gang member could ever get panicky over me, he tossed his shirt then stretched back to the headboard.

A click followed, then a second.

I gaped at him. “You handcuffed yourself to the bed?”

He settled back, getting comfortable, all long body and bare, tattooed torso. Convict had so much ink work. I let my gaze wander from the snake around one wrist to a mixture of well-created pieces and rougher ones. Maybe prison tattoos, if movies had it right and that was a thing.

His other forearm was still bandaged, but it was his tight stomach my gaze snagged on. The way his muscles flexed when he breathed. The obvious tent in his jeans.

Oh God. The heat in my veins turned molten. I wanted to touch him, but that was terrifying.

“Eyes up here, Emilia.”

I snapped my gaze to his face.

He smirked at me. “I’m teasing. Look your fill. You can do whatever you want to me. That’s why I chained myself up, so you wouldn’t feel scared. I can’t hide my body’s reaction to you, though. I don’t want to try.”

“Do you want me to… I mean, am I supposed to…?”

“Up to you. Torment me. Fuck me. You haven’t agreed to be mine yet, but I’m one hundred percent yours.”

That kind of power was dizzying.

A low moan sounded through the wall, and I lifted my head, startled.

Convict quirked an eyebrow. “This bedroom is on the cam girls’ floor. You get used to the noises.”

“Cam girls? You mean they’re filming themselves?”

“For paying customers online, yes. Every kind of sex imaginable between consenting adults is sold in this building. Or given away.”

His information was slotting into place with the glimpses I’d had when we’d moved through the corridors. Downstairs, women in very skimpy outfits had joined in congratulating us. Sex workers, I imagined.

I curled my lip. “I don’t get it. Why do you want me when you could have sex with someone experienced?”

“I don’t want anyone else. I’d rather have the smallest touch from you than any other woman on my dick.”

I recoiled, hating that image. “Don’t talk about other women on your dick.”