Series: Chicago Sin Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I am on his side. I am.
He pivots me to face the wall, tugging one of my hands to pin there.
“I told you not to move.” This is the voice of a mad man. Of the mafia. A killer. I need to remember that.
“I’m not going to say a thing.” The famous last words of people before they are killed.
This is it. I’m dead.
I expect the knife to come to my throat. Instead, he smacks my ass.
I squeak in surprise. It was a hard smack—punitive, not playful—and for some reason, it turns me on.
I turn my head to look over my shoulder at him. An ass-smack isn’t a real threat. It’s something hot. Sexual. The cold in my veins evaporates.
He smacks my ass again, the other cheek this time.
Hello.
I don’t have a clue what we’re doing here, but I’m getting more excited than scared.
I must be confusing adrenaline for lust. Yes, that must be it.
Or is this insanity kicking in? Am I so terrified of dying that my body is confused by the foreign sensation, and—
He slaps my ass one more time, harder than the last.
My body responds. Warmth radiates from my core, and I can’t help but moan in pleasure. It’s embarrassing that I can’t control emotions that I should keep hidden from him. I feel my heart racing, my skin tingling, and I’m growing wetter by the second.
He slides his hands down my sides, tracing a path of heat as he goes. He then grabs a roll of floral tape from my apron pocket. “Here’s what’s going to happen.” He twists my arms behind my back and ties my wrists together with the floral tape. It’s flexible, but he wraps it a dozen times and makes it tight, so I can’t twist enough to get it off. “You’re going to stay right here, facing this wall, until I get back. You’re not going to move. You’re not going to make a sound. Capisce?”
I nod my head quickly. “Yeah, okay.” I sound breathless.
I’m scared. Scared shitless. But there’s also something crazy churning inside me. Some spiraling heat, a tingling awareness.
I don’t know if it’s because I had a crush on this guy before or because he slapped my ass and woke up an erogenous area, but liquid heat pools between my legs.
He steps in front of me, and I feel his breath on my skin. He leans close and whispers in my ear. “Follow the rules, Flowers. Follow them or else.” His voice is low, possessive. His hot breath tickles my skin, sending pleasure coursing through me.
He takes my chin in his hand and turns my face up to his. He pulls away slightly, and I gasp for breath, my heart thudding in my chest.
He traces his finger along my jaw and down my throat. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t move.”
Armando then takes a step back and looks me up and down, his gaze burning with what I hope is desire. His eyes linger for a moment on the tightness of the floral tape binding my wrists, and then he gives a faint smirk. “Be a good girl,” he warns, before turning and walking away.
Am I reading him wrong? And have I lost my fucking mind? I shouldn’t be feeling anything but the overwhelming need to run and run fast. I should be fighting, screaming, and most definitely be terrified.
And yet, I stand here with my heart pounding and… my body on fire with desire. The heat between my legs grows stronger with each passing second, and a strange thrill of excitement shoots through me.
My body aches with anticipation. I’m still bound and helpless, but this time my fear has been replaced by something else. Something exciting. I can’t help but wonder—maybe even fantasize—what will happen when Armando returns.
I listen as he steps back into my cooler. I hear the sound of his voice speaking in short, clipped sentences. He must be on the phone.
Who is he talking to?
What is he saying?
Oh Jesus, is he calling more of the mafia to come and help him with this… situation? Is Garden of Eden about to become even more of a blood bath than it already is but with my blood?
If I were smart, I wouldn’t stick around to figure out what he’s going to do with me. I’d somehow find a way to escape. I’m not the stupid girl who falls for the bad boy. I’ve never been weak. I’ve never been the damsel in distress. So why in the hell am I even standing here?
And just as I’m starting to think about inching toward the back door, he returns and spins me around. With my wrists bound behind my back, my double D’s thrust forward and spread. “All right, Flowers. What am I going to do with you?”
Maybe it’s self-preservation. Maybe it’s the crush. Or the way my ass still tingles where he slapped it, but I do the only thing I can think of, which is to lean forward and kiss his mouth.