I shrug, leaning against the wall of the hotel room with my hands in my pockets. “It’s your turn.”
She chews her bottom lip, her eyes darting between me and the door.
My eyes narrow, and I step closer, watching as her breath catches but she holds her ground. “Truth or dare, Briar Rose?” I repeat, letting my eyes soften when she searches my face for reassurance.
She swallows hard. I see the memories playing out in the shadows of her eyes.The last time we played this game.
“Dare,” she whispers finally.
A slow smile tilts up the corners of my mouth. “Strip,” I tell her. There’s no mistaking the command in my voice.
Her mouth falls open, and I have to force my eyes to stay on hers.
“W-what?” she says, taking a step back from me, folding her arms across her chest, immediately uncomfortable.
I take another controlled step forward, taking off my suit jacket and hanging it over the back of a nearby chair, slipping my hands into my pockets.
“You heard me. Strip. Take off that dress. Right now.” I take another step until I’m fully invading her space. She won’t look at me, her eyes on the floor. I place two fingers under her chin and slowly lift.
Her eyes close in defeat.
“Briar, look at me.”
She does, but there’s ire in her eyes that wasn’t there before. After everything her mother just said to her, she thinks I’m being cruel.
“I hate you,” I tell her, watching the hurt flash in her eyes, revealing all the broken pieces she’s been killing herself trying to keep together.
“You hate me?” she repeats softly, her bottom lip quivering slightly.
“I do,” I tell her unapologetically. “You’ve haunted me, little Rose.” I release her chin, letting my fingers lightly trace the skin on the side of her neck, traveling south. I run my thumb over the Celtic knot at her throat. “Since the night we met, you’ve haunted every dream, every nightmare—you’ve lingered in the deepest shadows of my mind, a divine sin I can neither escape nor forget.My sweet damnation.” I stare down into her eyes, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse against my thumb, before my mouth finds her ear. “Take off your dress.”
I step back, watching her spiral with brutal intensity. Her arms wrap tighter around herself, searching for comfort while shaking her head no.
“I hate how fucking beautiful you are,” I continue, starting to circle her. She trembles when my fingers brush against one of the faint white scars across her back. “I hate the way you draw attention everywhere you go because of it. I hate the addictive taste of you, the rarest of drugs, nearly impossible to get my hands on.” I smirk.
Briar’s staring up at me, her eyes wide. “I hate the way you look at me.” I reach out and grab one of the curls framing her face, running the silky strand through my fingers. “How it makes me forget all the reasons I shouldn’t touch you.” I move behind her. The backs of my fingers stroking her still silk-covered side, before reaching up and smoothly tugging down the zipper of her dress.
“The dress, Briar,” I remind her. “Take it off.”
I come back to stand in front of her, sliding my hands into my pockets while I wait.
Her eyes stay on mine, uncertainty shining through them, but there’s something else there now too… Shewantsto trust me. For a few long seconds, she battles with her inner thoughts, until she takes a deep breath and lifts her shaking hands to her shoulders. Slowly, while averting her eyes, she hooks her thumbs through the straps of her dress and drags them down.
The silk glides over her porcelain skin as it drops, pooling at her feet, leaving her in just her panties and glittering heels. No bra. Briar’s arms quickly wrap around herself to hold her chest, hiding it from me.
I look her over slowly, purposefully, appreciating the literal goddess standing before me, as she’s meant to be appreciated. She won’t look at me, keeping her gaze trained on the floor, trembling.
I freeze when my eyes come across the dark ink, just above her right hip bone.
My mark.
She still has it.
I reach out to trace the tattoo with my fingertips, the little black club, the letter “K” just above it, and then, of course, the crown.
“It’s my turn,” I say, feeling Briar’s eyes lift. “And I pick truth.”
Her eyes are on me.
