Page 42 of Burn for Her

He chuckled and—no lie—Lena could feel the vibration in the air between their bodies.

“Take my blindfold off,” she demanded.

Silence grew into a loud roar in her ears.

“Take. It. Off. I want to see you, Reaper.” She could just untwirl the ribbons around her wrists and take the damned thing off herself, but she liked the comfort the bindings brought her. And the restraint. She didn’t trust herself to behave if her hands were free.

The Reaper made an animalistic noise that set her loins ablaze. Goosebumps burst along her arms. The hair on the back of her neck prickled in a delicious way.

He slipped behind her soundlessly. His fingers making fast work untying the knot of her blindfold, he pulled it away like an unveiling. Lena swallowed the lump of anticipation clogging her throat and turned her head just enough to catch part of his arm. Then she started to twirl herself to face him, but he stopped her with a firm grip on her hips.

“Are you sure you want to see what you’re locked in here with, Lena?”

Her heart fluttered like a moth in a jar. “Absolutely.”

“What if you don’t like what you see?”

“Only one way to find out.” Really, even if the guy was a Quasimodo look-a-like, she highly doubted it would matter. Something about his presence, his voice, even his scent drove her wild. She never had another person affect her in such a way. It seemed downright suspicious.

What were they doing? Pumping pheromones or drugs in the room?

What happened to clear minds and all that jazz? Her head was a lust-induced fog, and she was still fully clothed. This was…

Damnit, she didn’t know what this was. “I want to see you.”

He lifted his hands off her hips and allowed Lena to turn around and see him for the first time.

She started at his shoes and moved up from there. Black boots, buffed. Fitted, black slacks. Dark grey shirt, tucked and buttoned with the sleeves rolled up to showoff really sexy forearms. Dear God, why were forearms such a thing? Lena made sure to keep her perusal nice and slow to savor this moment. She counted one, two, three, four-five-six-seven buttons on his crisp shirt. His chest heaved as if he was struggling to catch his breath. He wasn’t massive like a pro-wrestler but definitely built with solid muscle and probably zero body fat under his designer clothing. Her eyes lingered a little on the tattoo on his right forearm. A Reaper holding a scythe.

Yesterday she would have called that cliché. Today, she’d argue it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. His ink was so well done, it was like the Reaper could rise off his skin to reach out and seduce her. Shred her dress with his blade. Cloak her in darkness and do unspeakably dirty and glorious things to her body and soul.

Okay, seriously, what were they pumping into this room to make everything so hot and provocative, some kind of magical aphrodisiac? Whatever it was, that shit was working magnificently. Lena was so turned on she was starting to sweat.

Drawing in a ragged breath, Lena allowed her gaze to finally work past his collar, up his throat, to his chin, jawline—geez, was it sharp—and across his face to his nose. She could choose his mouth or eyes next, and she didn’t know which would be the lesser of two evils.

She chose mouth.

Bad choice. Such a bad, delicious, full-bodied choice. His bottom lip was a little fuller than his top one. Both looked like she should taste them. As if seeing how enthralled she was with his mouth, Reaper sucked in his bottom lip, then dragged it back out, letting his teeth scrape all that sensual flesh.

She caught a glimpse of his fangs.

They were huge. Way bigger than Pain’s.

What did it say about her that she wanted to feel those on her skin? Could he pierce her with them? Would he if she begged? It was in her file. Had he looked at what she wanted or come in here blind and purely winging it?

She wanted those veneers to clamp down on her body. Rip her skin. Break her limits. Tear her open.

To break her bloody fantasy off before it went further, Lena dragged her gaze away from his mouth and sailed to his eyes.

Well fuck her six ways to Sunday, Reaper’s eyes were the color of sage and held such fierce intensity, he burned holes in her soul with them.

Dramatic? Yes. Accurate? Also, yes.

She couldn’t breathe with how he glared at her. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t—

“Does it hurt that much to see what you’re locked in here with?”

“What?”