My Sinful Valentine (A Beautiful Sinners Collection) by Elena Reyes (black authors fiction .txt) 📕

“Clean it up and erase all traces of these two ever being here, but dispose of them where they’ll be found.”

3

Present...

“YOU WANT TO talk?” Malcolm stalks closer, pausing just behind his throne. My king.

His presence within these walls is a heady feeling. A delicious distraction, but I can’t show the effect he has on me.

Not now. This is my show.

“I do.” Two words. Direct and to the point.

In the time we’ve been married and even before, in our first interaction within these walls, Malcolm Asher taught me a thing or two about intimidation. Not because he treated me like anything other than his queen, but because I dissected his every move. How he owns any room without uttering a single threat.

My husband taught me that those who talk the most have the weakest bite. An attacker won’t notify you of their intent to strike; he or she will announce their presence once it’s too late to stop the devastating blow.

So, I’ve done my homework. I know his ticks, and he knows mine.

I’m not that shy woman he met anymore—the girl afraid of her shadow and its intentions.

No. Not now. Not ever again, and it’s all thanks to him. My love. My husband.

“Regarding what matters, Mrs. Asher? Is there something you need?” His voice is low, his hunger controlled, and yet, his hands are clenched atop his favorite chair, the dark wood standing out amongst the rose petals. The upholstery matches their color.

Green eyes the hue of a priceless gem watch me. They traverse my small frame and take in my every curve, the way the short silk robe drapes down my front while the center of my chest and the flimsy bodysuit beneath is exposed.

Not fully, but enough to tease. To tempt him into playing my game.

There’s curiosity over my intentions. A heady yearning that reaches across the space separating us and makes my heart flutter.

I lick my lips, and he follows the move. “A story on the news of mutual interest.”

“Which one?” He moves around his chair, the perfect picture of calm, and stalks toward the bottle of gin atop the small eating area there. There’s a glass next to the bucket where I’d put it to chill and he grabs it, opening the bottle and pouring his usual three fingers’ worth. “Are we expecting bad weather over the next few days? Is there a visitor coming that I’m not aware of?”

“We both know that’s not what I am talking about.”

Malcolm brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip, savoring the citrus notes he enjoys. After all, it is his favorite brand that I procured for today. “Then tell me.”

“Two bodies.”

“Once washed upon a shore?”

“No, more like a lake with missing parts of their anatomy.” Pressing the number two on the small remote in my hand, I wait until the first riffs of a guitar filters into the room and toss it aside. The beat is heavy. Pulses through me. “Now sit. We have agreements to make.”

“As you wish.” My husband strides across the room to his throne, taking a seat right where I need him. I want his eyes on me. Close enough to touch, but unable to do more than indulge in something he enjoys. My beast is a voyeur. Finds his release between my thighs or while watching me play, something that at first made me feel embarrassed, but I now embrace.

I’m the exhibitionist to his voyeur.

That palpable hunger in his eyes makes me feel loved and cherished.

“Now, since we feel like playing games...” I spread my legs a little, back straight, and let the silk fall off my shoulders, catching the fabric at my elbows. His eyes get dark, heavy-lidded as he takes in the white lace and the specific cutouts that leave nothing to the imagination. The see-through fabric exposes my body: my nipples are hard and there’s wetness between my legs that causes the high-cut bodysuit to stick to my mound. “I’ll reward you based on the truth system. You answer me, and I’ll play a little for you.”

“London, that’s a dangerous offer.”

“It’s fair and just.” My hips sway from side to side, gyrating in time with the thrumming beat. I’ve always loved music, the way it can alter a mood. Brings the coquettish side out of the most serious people. It’s life and emotions and an extension of who I am. “Do we have a deal?”

Malcolm’s eyes become darker; I’m pushing his buttons. The banker in him can’t say no. “Give me a reason to accept.”

“As you wish.” The robe falls and I take the three steps back, my ass against the pole. The cold metal feels good on my warm skin, and goose bumps rise across my flesh. My cheeks rub against the pole, back arched while I bite down on my bottom lip.

He watches with an impassive expression, but the tight hold on his glass says more than words ever can. With each roll of my hips, his hold tightens until the glass shatters and drops of blood fall over the armrest.

Let’s see how long you can hold out, my love.

One of my hands rubs across my chest and upward, caressing my neck before grabbing a fistful of my long locks in much the same manner he would. I close my eyes and tug, letting out a low moan while my other hand skims down the non-existent fabric meant to display me.

I’m here for his enjoyment. I’m here to make him lose control.

My nipples are hard, the flesh tender, and I circle the left one with my ring finger. His rings adorn me—mark me as his to the world—and he leans forward. Malcolm doesn’t give a single fuck about the cuts on