Page 75 of Sinful Lord

But what about the cameras? I’d naively asked.

Find their blind spots.

How? I don’t even know where they are, just that they’re there.

With a Cheshire grin, she’d taken out her phone and clicked the camera light on. Then she’d turned off all the lights in the hallway leading up to the kitchen and directed the beam over all the corners we could find. Sure enough, the light reflected off the lenses, revealing the cameras, movements and all.

From there, I was able to formulate a route to get me to the kitchen.

Shit, that first slice was like heaven. I’d never felt so badass. The two of us talked and laughed until dawn, then I’d carefully snuck back to my room and had the most satisfying sleep of my life.

My heart sinks.

I miss Rozalia.

“This is for you,” I say, turning on my phone’s camera light.

Scrambling back to the kitchen, I click off all the lights, then carefully boost myself back up on the chair and start scanning.

“Come to mama,” I whisper, full of confidence. But the longer I scan without getting a result, the quicker that confidence fades.

Am I just losing my mind? Is there really a camera?

Then, I see it.

A reflection. Coming through the dingy vent in the ceiling corner above my bed.

Of course.

“Bingo.”

I practically jump down from the chair and run from the kitchen, flicking the lights back on along the way.

But before I can hop on my bedside table and rip the vent off, something stops me.

Something that hits me in the chest like a jackhammer.

Tytus tricked me. He deceived me.

Shit. That kiss he gave me last night was so tender I almost forgot who he truly was.

A hardened mobster. An irredeemable monster.

A creep.

He’s been spying on me.

It’s how he knew where the lube was. It’s how he knew where I liked my fingers when I masturbated.

It’s how he could make sure I was safe.

An inner conflict roots me into place as I battle with the implications.

Tytus saved my life, but he was also the one who put it at risk in the first place. Then he helped mend me back to health. He gave gifts and warmth and a sense of safety. In return, he watched me, closely, and without my permission.

The confirmation of his peeping almost makes me sick. But then that sense of betrayal turns anger. And then disappointment.

But through it all is a wicked, unmistakable sense of arousal— as well as something that could be mistaken as gratitude.