I laugh.
"Off," he orders.
He's watching me.
So? It's not the first time a man's watched me.
Flashbacks of all the things I've done in the Underworld pummel me at once.
Pretend it's just another ritual.
I tug at the material. It falls to the floor, and a moment of relief fills me. I sigh, then my self-consciousness comes back.
I'm not naked. I'm in my thong and bra. But I feel naked.
For a heartbeat, he doesn't move. Then his eyes drag over every inch of me before he challenges, "Take the rest off, Valentina."
"I'm good."
He points to my panties. "Is that because I've been exciting you all night?"
I glance at the soaked lace, then slap the back of my hand against his arm. "Funny."
He tosses his own towel aside. "Don't be shy. I refuse to get heat stroke."
My breath catches, and I freeze.
The bar of silver gleams against the light. I saw the flash of metal earlier when he dropped his sweats, but the same coil in my gut reoccurs.
He smirks. "Like?"
I swallow. "You're ridiculous."
"Not what you were going to say."
I turn away, pretending to adjust my towel. "I always wondered why a guy would pierce himself there?"
He laughs under his breath. "Ever heard of the Kama Sutra?"
I force myself not to look at his dick again, affirming, "I'm familiar with it."
Cockiness erupts on his expression. "Then you know it's not just about positions. It's about precision."
"So you're worried you won't get your cock in the hole?" I tease.
He chuckles. "Never had a problem with that."
I stare at him, my heart racing.
He continues, "Centuries ago, men wore metal to honor the gods of pleasure. They believed it gave control. Power. Connection."
"So you're superstitious or religious?" I ask.
"Neither." He drags a fingertip down my damp shoulder. "Some things survive because they work."
My throat goes dry. "So Brax O'Malley is a scholar of ancient love rituals?"
He grins. "I'm a man who appreciates history. And results."
