Page 46 of House of Sin
I turned my gaze on him. “I haven’t seen a gentleman all night.”
Scarface let out a harsh laugh. “You got a sharp tongue on you for someone running a whorehouse.”
“And you’ve got a death wish for someone with no backup.” I said, leaning in just enough for him to feel the unmistakable certainty of it. “Let me guess, you came in here thinking the rules didn’t apply to you. Thought maybe the girls would fall all over themselves because you’ve got a few coins and a scar you didn’t earn.” He bristled, but I didn’t give him space to speak. “I’ve seen your kind before: mouthy, sloppy, and too stupid to be scared.” I took a slow sip of whiskey, holding his stare as the burn slid down my throat. “You walk in like you own the room, and five minutes later you’re crawling out with your tailbetween your legs. That’s the cycle, sweetheart. That’s your story.”
The man with ass breath stepped closer, chest puffed, fists half clenched. “You think you’re untouchable sitting here at the bar?”
I tilted my head slightly, like I was considering the question. “No,” I said, “I think I’m untouchable because no one stupid enough to break my rules has ever walked out whole.”
His mouth opened, then snapped shut. No words came. The confident smirk disappeared, overtaken by a momentary trace of doubt. Scarface’s jaw twitched, a subtle but telling sign of the anger simmering beneath the surface. Victor shifted beside me and I didn’t need to look to know his eyes were locked on them.
“You need a hand, Birdie?” He asked.
I gave him a sidelong glance, the corner of my mouth twitching in an almost smile. There was an unspoken understanding between us, a silent acknowledgment that I wasn’t about to let things spiral out of control. “I’ve got it.” I said, calmly. Victor gave a tight nod as he stepped back, giving me space, but keeping close enough if I needed him.
The music stuttered, then faded into the background like a warning as the girls moved with keen precision. Nell’s fingers hovered near the drawer beneath the bar, ready to draw if needed, while Maeve straightened from her perch, eyes narrowing. Elona dropped down a step and Violet slipped silently away from the far booth, every movement alert and watchful. The Oily Cat didn’t rattle easily, but when it did, it closed in tight.
Just as the tension reached its peak, Emil appeared from behind the men. His large frame cast a long shadow over the group, and the room seemed to shrink with his presence. His mere existence turned the tension into something far more dangerous. “You need to move on,” Emil said, his voice firm. “This isn’t the place for your kind of behavior.”
Scarface laughed, clearly thinking Emil was joking. “Oh, and what will you do about it, big guy?” He sneered, looking Emil up and down with disdain. Emil’s eyes quickly shifted to the man’s companion, who was reaching for his coat, but the decision had already been made. Before the man could even register what was happening, Emil’s hand shot out in a blurof motion, grabbing the scarred man by the collar and lifting him off the floor with the ease of lifting a child. The man’s eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat.
“I’ll show you,” Emil muttered, his grip tightening, his expression a stone wall of fury. The other man froze, unsure of what to do, his bravado crumbling under Emil’s overt threat.
With a single, swift motion, Emil hauled the man across the room and shoved him through the door. The other scrambled after him, their pride bruised and egos deflated. Emil’s deep voice followed them out. “Next time, remember where the fuck you are.”
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the room in a buzzing silence. The intensity of Emil’s actions lingered in the air, a subtle but undeniable shift in the room’s dynamic. The Oily Cat had again been tested, and it had again emerged victorious.
Maeve broke the quiet first. “Another one bites the dust,” she said with a grin, turning back to the other customers as if nothing had happened. “It’s never a dull nightaround here.”
I laughed softly before taking a slow sip of my whiskey, the rhythm of the room slowly returning to normal. Though the disturbance had passed, my mind was elsewhere. My pulse was still running high from the confrontation, urging me to do something to release the tension.
I glanced toward Victor, standing a little further down the bar. His casual presence was comforting, but tonight I needed more than comfort. I needed release. “Hey, Victor,” I called out. He turned toward me, his eyes instantly locking on to mine. “Why don’t you take me upstairs and make me come until I can’t walk straight?” I asked.
A slow grin spread across his face as his eyes traveled down my body, pausing just long enough to make sure I was serious. “With pleasure, Birdie.” He replied, the heat in his tone leaving little room for doubt.
30
I WANT TO FEEL THIS TOMORROW
Victor’s hand found mine beneath the bar, pulling me toward the narrow staircase and leading me upstairs. The dim light of The Oily Cat faded behind us, replaced by the quiet hush of the private room. Victor closed the door with a soft click, and the silence wrappedaround us.
His fingers slid along my jaw, tracing a slow path down my neck, that sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. I tipped my head back without thinking, as his mouth followed the path his hand had drawn. Each careful kiss was a spark, igniting the fire that had been building inside me all night, the tight coil of tension, frustration, and raw hunger unraveling with every breath.
His fingers lingered at the laces of my corset, thumbs brushing faint warmth along the exposed skin of my back, pausing there, as though he were deciding whether to let me fall apart or hold me together a moment longer. When at last he loosened the corset, it wasn’t sudden. It unraveled in careful increments, each release of pressure pulling something loose inside me, like my composure had been tied to every knot.
I felt it give, felt myself soften beneath his hands, even as I stood there still trying to pretend I wasn’t affected at all. He turned me toward him then, his gaze darkening with desire as he sank to his knees. His fingers slipped beneath the folds of my skirt, ghosting over the soft, damp skin of my inner thigh, teasingthe lace of my stockings, and pulling at their delicate seams before I caught his hand.
“Don’t bother with all that slow, gentle shit tonight,” I said. “I don’t want the tease, I don’t want the romance, I want you to fuck me hard and fast until I forget my name.”
His pupils dilated. “You sure?” He asked, already rising to his feet.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
Whatever restraint he’d walked in with vanished. He spun me toward the vanity, already dragging up my skirt with both hands. I gasped, hips twitching back against him, and he groaned low against the curve of my spine as he kissed my back. One hand held me against the vanity, bent slightly forward at the waist, while the other moved between my legs, his touch both cruel and worshipful. He worked me open with slow, circling precision, fingers coaxing heat from me like he knew the exact tempo of my undoing. I bit my lip to stifle the moan building in my chest.
“You’re burning for it,” he said, voice rough with hunger. “Say it.”
“I need you,” I whispered.
