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“Would you be worried if your mother was shot and ripped apart?” I spit out.
“Absolutely,” she says, “but I’m not sure that I would think anyone from other syndicates I’ve been in harmony with would have anything do with it.”
Damning her, I turn on my heels. I’m about to say something snide about rivalries running deeper than alliances, but I’m confronted with the sight of her in a skimpy dress that barely cuts across her midthigh.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask sharply, but really, all I can think about is the way that dress is laying on her body.
It hugs her breasts, sweeping dangerously low. So low, I can see all but the pink bud of her nipples, the swell of her breasts barely covered by fabric. The dress is printed like a wild tiger, just like the predator I know is lurking under her skin.
What would it be like to have you under me, Arden?
Would she play dirty, would she play submissive? Or would she want to dominate me, tie me down, fuck me until I didn’t know my name?
I’ve never submitted to a woman before, but suddenly, I’m very, very curious.
“I’m not going to miss a party just because I’m staying with you,” she says, pulling an expensive bottle of perfume out of her bag. She sprays it on, and the room is flooded with the scent of her.
My head spins.
She picks up her clutch and walks past me, swinging her hips. Over her shoulder, she asks, “Aren’t you coming?”
