Page 20 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

RILEY

“W hat if?—”

The words trip out before my brain can catch them.

I swallow hard.

“What if I… do need a punishment? Maybe I was a bad girl?”

A smile cuts across his face, that delectable dimple carving deep. “Go on.”

“What if I told you every filthy thing I’ve done since I got here? Would you tell me then?”

Hunger darkens his stare. “ You’re ready to confess all your sins?”

“Yes. I—I want to be punished.”

Okay. Who the fuck just said that?

My feet betray me, sliding a step closer. “But only if you tell me what I want to know. Agreed?”

He studies me for a long, heavy beat. Then—“No. Not agreed.”

He rounds the desk, voice dropping to a murmur that scorches like the sun. My skin prickles, nerves seared raw.

“I’m pretty sure no matter what you say… those pretty lips of yours will only lie to me.”

“I won’t.”

I totally will.

“Prove it.”

“Prove I won’t lie. How?”

He drags the ruler along the dark line of his jaw, wood rasping against the scruff of his beard. His eyes locked on mine.

“Swear on something that matters.” A pause, as he contemplates it. “Swear on your sister’s life.”

A shiver slithers down my spine, then coils tight in my gut. He wants me to stake Kennedy’s life on this.

On a stupid game.

And if I lie, if he finds out, she’s dead. Mass murderers are reliable that way.

Damnit .

Maybe I should just leave. Walk out. Refuse his games.

But my feet don’t move.

I need to know if those plus signs were right, and the doctor is the only one who can tell me.

But Kennedy…

I drag in a breath. She’ll be fine. The D’Angelos will make sure of it. Enzo—Lord of Hell himself—guards what’s his.

Even a psychopath like Zver wouldn’t risk an all-out war that would follow if he touched a D’Angelo’s wife.

…Would he?

My eyes shut tight. For the first time in forever, I make a pact with myself.

I’ll only give Zver the truth.

How hard can that be?

I bite my lip until I taste blood. Two little words slip free. “I agree.”

His smile widens. “You agreed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Ms. Mullvain?”

I try not to shiver at the way he says it— Ms. Mullvain . And try convincing my traitorous nipples it’s not a turn-on. “Yes. I agree.”

“Then come here. And let’s begin.”

I do. I step into his orbit to the point I can’t breathe.

The room stills. The air evaporates. My lips part like I’m about to argue—maybe beg.

Instead, what slips out is a pathetic little squeak. Probably from the lack of oxygen this close to the sun.

He drags the ruler, slow and deliberate, up the inside of my thigh until it rests against my sex.

Holy fuck.

“You’ve been a bad girl, Ms. Mullvain.” His words scrape hot along my neck. “So. Fucking. Filthy.”

My knees nearly buckle.

“Face the desk.”

I do.

My feet move. One step. Then another. Until I’m standing exactly where he wants me.

I lay my palms flat on the desk.

Then, I wait.

He rests the ruler across the backs of my hands. I know this game. If I move at all, if the ruler slips off, it’s game over.

I don’t know it because I wrote it in my journal. I didn’t.

I know because it’s in the book I’ve been reading: Fated to the Dungeon Master.

So apparently, stalking isn’t limited to my journal. Now he’s in my books, too.

Is nothing sacred?

Does this guy actually work, or is tormenting me his full-time gig?

“Here’s how this goes,” he says against my shoulder. “I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer it.”

“But I thought I’d get to ask?—”

He nips my shoulder. I squirm, but the ruler stays in place. “You thought wrong, Pom. Me first. You next.”

Fine. Fuck . Whatever.

I want to tell him not to call me Pom.

I remind myself he’s my warden. That I hate him. Or at least—I should.

But there’s something in his voice when he says it. Even with his thick Russian accent and gravelly tone, something stops my protest.

Something stupid. Something wrong. A deep ache I can’t shake.

A craving that won’t let me go.

For the moment, I close my eyes and let my imagination run. That right here, right now, this is Dante here with me.

Not Zver.

A hand slides along my hip, down my thigh, then skates along the crest of my ass.

Even after his hand vanishes, the heat of it lingers.

I melt into it.

“If you answer honestly, I’ll caress you. If you don’t, I’ll punish you. And I’ll know when you’re lying.”

Will he?

Crack .

“Do you understand?”

The first strike lands across my ass, cutting straight through my jeans.

A tear slips free.

It doesn’t hurt.

It feels like I’m on fire.

Slowly, he begins to rub. A palm over one cheek, then the other.

“I said, do you understand?”

“Yes—Jesus—I understand.”

His hand keeps moving, deceptively soft. I’m still trying to process if this is punishment when his voice cuts across my thoughts.

“Did you enjoy taking the bishop for me?”

Humiliation spikes. He wants me to admit it. To say that I enjoyed it, and that I rode that chess piece until I nearly made it a diamond.

Not a chance. “No.” The lie scrapes out of me, and I brace for impact.

“Try again.” Another crack. This time, harder than before.

I cry out the truth. “Yes.”

Fuck.

“I enjoyed it,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

His hand slides around to the front.

To my sex.

Blood pounds so loud in my ears it’s deafening. Almost enough to drown out the sound of my zipper sliding down.

He eases my jeans off—one leg, then the other—and moves in behind me. One hand grips my ass, the other slides between my thighs.

That’s when I realize it wasn’t just my jeans he stripped away. My panties are gone too.

And, damn, I lean into the fantasy.

My body unravels, heat curling through every inch of me. My hips move on their own, grinding against him—until his thumb drifts lower, circling the rim of my ass.

His hand comes down again, sharp across my cheek. This time, the sound rips a moan out of me.

“Pain and pleasure,” he drawls. “You like it, don’t you, Pom?”

God, yes.

So much that if he’d just shut up already, I’d probably come.

I bite my tongue, and choke the confession back. I’m done playing by his rules.

His impatience snaps. “Well?”

“You already had a question,” I push out, even as my body hasn’t stopped grinding against his hand. “My turn.”

“Anything.”

The word comes out raw and hungry and… honest. So honest, it almost convinces me he really would tell me anything.

Maybe even who he is.

But I have other priorities.

I ease into the perfect rhythm, feeling his touch everywhere all at once. My breath stutters. “Is the doctor okay?”

His magic hands stop. “You wasted a perfectly good question on that?”

“Is he?”

His growl undoes me. “I let him live.”

Teeth sink into my neck, hard enough to bruise. Punishment and pleasure in one bite.

Air rushes from my lungs.

And I grind harder, shamelessly chasing the delicious friction of his fingers on my pussy, and at my ass.

“Do you want to come?” he asks.

His finger slides inside, and I’m still riding it when the word rips out of me. “Nope.”

The truth is I don’t want to come. I have to.

A small but important distinction when you’re being fingered by a psycho.

Another sharp crack across my ass. God, the sweet, brutal pain has tears streaming down my face.

I drift out of my body, my hips rolling on instinct, rocking of their own accord.

“Let’s stop playing games, Pom.” His voice is a delicious growl that makes my hips grind faster. “Last round. All or nothing. And the question is mine.”

“All…or…nothing?” My brain can’t keep up, not with him slipping two fingers in and wrecking me from the inside out.

Seriously, where’s an eighteenth-century chess piece when you need one?

“Here’s the deal. You answer honestly—big ask for you—and I’ll strip. Suit, mask, every layer. Face to face. Then I’ll fuck this sweet little pussy.”

Face to face?

He’s offering me him. All of him. Bared. Naked.

Unmasked.

And with his cock grinding so hard against me, I’m shocked it hasn’t already called dibs.

My pace quickens. I’m so close—too close. “Agreed.”

“Not so fast. If you do anything but tell the truth—and knowing you, that’s a big if—you’ll strip off the rest of your clothes, drop to your knees, and let me fuck that sassy mouth of yours.”

Maybe it’s the subspace talking but this feels like a win-win. I’ve already sworn to myself—I will not lie.

And I won’t put Kennedy’s life in danger.

I agree with a loud, orgasmic, “Yes!”

I’m on the edge, and he lets me fall. I ride his hand like it’s a bull at a Texas bar. Wild, reckless, and desperate.

His thumb crushes my clit, his other hand cups my breast, pinches my nipple hard and?—

Holy fuck, I come.

And come.

And keep coming, wave after wave, until the world collapses into ash and breaths.

The ruler lifts from the backs of my hands. No chains, no bonds. Just his dominance and my obedience.

Kisses trail my neck, my shoulders, my cheek, my hair. I float, weightless, and he’s the only thing holding me upright.

Then he slides his fingers free and sucks them clean. The sound is loud and obscene, and so erotic if that freight train of an orgasm hadn’t just flattened me, the noise alone would.

I spin in his arms. Turn to face him.

So many emotions ripple across his face, too fast to catch, before settling in his eyes. Those dark, unreadable eyes.

Is this it? The moment he lets me see who he is?

Then, he asks the question burning a hole in his brain. “Why do you want to see the doctor, Riley?”

The floor drops out beneath me.

Fuck.