Page 91 of Sinful Lord

Fuck.

Our position has been made. If Maksim has any common sense, he’ll have already called in every last member of the Kilpatrick crime family. Berlin will be crawling with those Irish bastards, and their Russian allies too.

And they’ll all be looking for my little runaway.

But she isn’t theirs to take.

She’s mine.

All that’s left for me to do Is claim her.

My cock twitches.

A stone drops in my gut.

Feelings of dread and arousal mix into a strange concoction that stops me just feet away from the half open bedroom door.

If my plan is going to have any chance, I’ll have to speed up my seduction of the Kilpatrick princess.

Fortunately, I think her mind is ready for that increased pressure.

Her body, however, is a different story. She’s just so fucking fragile and petite, and she’s already been through more than any princess should. What more can she take?

My heart wrenches at the thought of breaking the thin seal of trust that Melina has clearly developed in me.

Still, my chest hardens with resolve.

Do what you have to do, no matter how badly it hurts, the devil on my shoulder hisses.

If only I’d ever had an angel on my other shoulder, it might tell me what I actually want to hear. Unfortunately, I’ve never been anywhere near heaven. And that means I’ve never had a chance to pick an angel up.

Until now.

“Angel?”

The door creaks as I gently push it open.

My eyes immediately fall on the heavenly creature staring out the large double windows ahead. Her perfectly curved figure is silhouetted by the lake glistening outside.

“It’s beautiful,” Melina whispers, not turning around.

Still, I can see those hazel eyes forget the water to focus on my reflection.

“I figured a place like this was more up your alley.”

“Maybe,” she says. “I don’t know anymore. Honestly, I was getting kind of used to the destitution.”

“Hey, your place wasn’t so bad,” I smile, stepping closer to her. “Not after we fixed it up a bit.”

Melina doesn’t wince or run away as I approach from behind. Instead, our eyes lock in the glass of the window.

“Thank you, Tytus,” she sighs.

“For what?”

“I… I don’t know… taking care of me… saving me?”

“You don’t sound so convinced that you’re saved,” I try to joke, but the smile slowly dissolves from my lips.