Page 48 of House of Cards

Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is?—

Oh, thank fuck, it’s a blindfold.

I can’t help but whimper when he slides it over my eyes and fastens it mercilessly tight around my head. Also can’t stop a panicked gasp when he grabs my hair and yanks back my head.

His breath warms my mouth, and for some ridiculous reason, I think he’s going to kiss me.

Like I so badly wanted to in the hallway. Which just proves how close I am to losing my mind.

An electric tingle throbs over my lips.

God. I hate myself more than I hate him. My tongue betrays me before I can stop it, wetting my lips like I’m begging for a kiss I don’t want,can’t want,shouldn’t want.

No, no, no.

My body doesn’t get to win this time.

When I hear the door open and realize Smith is about to leave, I can’t help but bleat out, “Smith!”

A hand grips my hair, wrenches back my head.

For an awful moment, I don’t know whose hand it is. That door could have opened for his client, Smith not bothering to remain behind. Maybe even joining his friend behind the glass.

“There will be pain,” Smith murmurs in a voice as tight as his merciless grip in my hair. “Lots of it.”

A warm breath hits the side of my neck, Smith’s voice dropping to a whisper.

“Don’t let it crush you. Ride it like a wave, kitten. I—” Another breath, harder, exasperated sounding like the almost reluctant words that come next. “I’ll be watching.”

Zoey

I jerk at my cuffs when the door slams closed like a rifle shot.

What the hell? One second he’s whispering fucked up shit in my ear, breathing on me like he’s going to kiss me and then he slams the door?

No. Smith only slams doors when he’s really,reallymad?—

“You’re a pretty little slut,” comes a voice a few feet behind me.

Sweet Jesus. That wasn’t Smith slamming the door, was it? It was whoever the fuck is standing behind me.

This must be Howler.

Every inch of my skin tries to crawl off in a different direction.

Smith’s voice is deep, cultured. Like he has a degree in something intelligent and boring, parents who own several shell companies, and just does this whole sex-trafficking thing as a side hustle because he got bored of all the trophies he won for fencing.

Thisguy?

He’s an oaf who transports butcher meat around on his shoulder all day before spending his evenings eating TV dinnersand drinking beer while he watches reruns of boxing matches from the eighties.

Wow.

My imagination issomuch more vivid with this blindfold on.

The air stirs, and I shudder when I realize it’s because Howler is moving closer. He audibly sniffs the air, and I have to force myself not to think about what expression is on his face.

When Smith smells me, it’s fucking hot.