Page 4 of Sinful Lord

In a way, this is Tytus’ fault.

He was responsible for what happened at the coronation. Him and his sister, Rozalia. They scared my family and sealed my fate.

Now, I’m a prisoner.

And it’s because of the man standing before me.

“Why are you here?” I ask with all the venom I can muster. The drapes to my right momentarily lift again, flapping against a short breeze before fluttering back down into place.

“A show of goodwill,” Tytus shrugs, cranking his bulky neck. “Someone told me that your brother wanted his painting back. But I know it was never really his, so I decided to return it to its rightful owner. And here I am, offering an olive branch in these trying times.”

“No,” I whisper, brushing aside his mocking words. “You’re not here for that.”

He’s playing with me. Like a predator with his prey.

“You better hope I am,” Tytus huffs. One more step forward brings him close enough to feel. That hard body gives off so much heat it’s suffocating. “Because if I’m not here to help, then you are in loads of trouble, little girl.”

“If you’re here to help, then why are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything from you.”

To my complete shock, he lifts a huge hand up to the hole in his shirt and rips it open a few more inches—just enough to expose the deep contour of his tatted peck… and his hard nipple.

The act is like an intense, hot shove against my chest. I’m pushed deeper into the wall. My eyes begin to water. But my toes also curl. My thighs clench. And a worrisome pressure appears in my core.

My reaction must be obvious because even Tytus seems to notice it.

A predator’s instinct dilates his black pupils. He takes another step forward, then another. The sliver of pale moonlight moves across his face, illuminating his other eye briefly before he’s once again shrouded in darkness. But my vision has adjusted, and he’s close enough now that I can see every hard, rugged, smoldering inch of him.

It's overwhelming.

What’s worse than the sight, though, is the smell. An arctic-like aftershave that lifts my chin; tightens my chest; makes my lips quiver.

I can’t help but swallow, even if it hurts. My dry throat contracts against the effort, as raw as ever. But something else threatens to dampen. Something between my legs.

I want to cry.

This is a nightmare and a dirty dream all rolled into one.

“What… what do you want?” I rasp.

In response, Tytus leans forward and sniffs the air right by the most tender part of my neck. I’m completely exposed to the monster, and there’s nothing I can do but wait for him to bite down.

But instead of tearing me apart, he pauses.

“I left something for you on the back of the canvas,” he whispers, his voice impossibly deep. “A little gift to show you just how sincere I am. When you feel like setting fire to this old, boring sheltered life of yours, you take a look, and you take advantage. A bird as pretty as you deserves to be free.”

His words burn into my brain, setting my skull on fire. My pounding heart tugs upwards.

What does he know about me?

“Oh, the fun we could have together,” he growls, his hot breath washing against my virgin skin.

“Please…” I whimper. “… Leave.”

“Only if I can take you with me.”

To my horror, I feel him reach for my wrist.