The King's Favorite Sin

Rosella's POV "Strip and spread those legs wide," Blake Luca growls, tossing a 9-inch realistic dildo right at my face. I blink rapidly and catch it like my life depends on it, fingers wrapping tightly around the thick silicone shaft before it can smack my cheek. I don’t dare say a word. I just stare at the man standing at the edge of the bed. But God forgive me, Blake Luca is the definition of ‘A man made in sinful flesh…’ tall and broad-shouldered, his body carved like he’d spent every minute of his life lifting heavy dumbbells in the gym. He wears a tight white shirt that shows off his hard chest, the sleeves rolled up to expose thick, veiny forearms. His black pants cling to his strong thighs, and the heavy bulge pressing against the fabric between his legs is impossible to miss. A massive dragon tattoo curls up his right arm, its dark scales etched in black and red. The beast’s snarling head disappears beneath his collar, right at the base of his thick neck. And his face—God! This man is a beautiful sin. If he looks this lethal dressed, naked? He’d be a f*****g apocalypse—c**k thick enough to ruin me, abs like armored plates leading down to the V of hips I shouldn’t be imagining. How on earth did I miss this guy’s features yesterday? Even just hours ago? Was it the night… or the effect of the Château Margaux? Tension coils in my stomach, hot and traitorous. I’m so stupid, really f*****g stupid—trapped in his penthouse as his captive yet I lose focus, my thighs press together as my body keeps reacting at the mere sight of my captor. But it isn’t my fault, he would’ve sent me to hell already, if I hadn’t agreed to play his dirty game. "I said strip!" he snaps me out of my twisted daydreams. "Oh… okay," my voice, a pathetic whisper. My heart pounds as I clutch the edge of the thin silk nightgown Zee, the server, brought me. I bite my lip, trying to steady myself as the fabric brushes against my thighs while I pull it up, inch by inch, over my head. The gown slides off my arms and pools on the massive, luxurious bed with its black silk sheets, leaving me in nothing but a lacy pink bra and matching panties she’d also brought me. "I want everything off,” he grunts, eyes dragging over me. I fumble with my bra clasp, the hooks getting stuck before finally coming loose. It slips down, freeing my boobs entirely… they jiggle as I pull off the bra completely, shoving it aside. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, lift my hips slightly, and slide them down before kicking them aside. Now completely naked, my skin prickles all over, p***y lips already puffy and glistening. Blake’s eyes narrow as he slowly steps back and sinks onto the leather sofa at the edge of the room, legs spread wide like a throne. This dude doesn’t take his sinful eyes off me for a second, his dragon tattoo flexing as he adjusts his bulge without shame. "Spread them." I hesitate, my cheeks flushed as vulnerability hits me like a slap—naked on his bed under the harsh white light blazing overhead, as if it’s mocking my exposure. I reluctantly obey, knees parting slowly. The sheets rub cool against my ass as I open up, feet flat on the mattress, p***y lips parting slightly to reveal the wet pink folds inside, and a visibly pulsing c**t. His eyes shoot straight to my holes, like he’s devouring it. "You can do better," he signals with his index and middle fingers, spreading them wide in a V. I gulp, pulse pounding in my ears. I hook my hands under my knees, pulling them back and apart. Wider now, I feel my p***y lips stretching, inner walls clenching on nothing, a trickle of arousal leaking out to soak the sheets. The position makes my asshole wink into view too, everything exposed, the musky scent of my wetness rising sharp in the air. He relaxes deeper into the sofa, one arm flung over the back, the other hand scratching idly at his jaw. "Use it.” "Use what?” He points at the dildo lying on the bed beside me—massive, veiny, and wider at the tip, easily as girthy as a wrist. My c**t pulses harder. “But... B-Blake, it’s too big," I protest, eyes widening at the monster, heart thumping so hard I can feel it in my throat. My p***y clenches involuntarily, betraying me with a fresh spill of wetness, but I know it’s craving Blake's length, not this monster lifeless thing. "Cut the pretense and use it," he snaps, no patience in that rumble. I stare at the huge dildo, heart slamming. "f**k yourself hard, feed my eyes, Rosella. Show me why I shouldn't regret sparing your worthless life.” Damn it! Even the way he says my name makes my n*****s diamond-hard. What the hell is wrong with me? Mag didn’t tell me Blake is sin itself. I only heard this beautiful man is ruthless, heartless, merciless… everything less. But right here in his goddamned penthouse, my cunt’s disgracing me—lips swollen and slick, a steady drip of arousal pooling beneath my ass. And I swear he notices every bit of it—the way his nostrils keep flaring, as if he can sense my need from across the room. "Hey! Are you lost?" "No... no," I rasp, snatching the dildo, my fingers trembling as I rip it free from the transparent plastic wrap… HOW IT STARTED The rain pounded on the roof of Mag's black Mercedes-Benz Maybach, like a thousand tiny fists trying to get in. I sank into the soft leather seat, my fingers clutching my silk dress. Next to me, Mag sat perfectly still, her eyes glued to her phone as we waited for Murphy to call and for the rain to stop, or at least ease up a little. Outside the dark windows, the view looked like an expensive painting—Luxe Noir, Dallas's most exclusive nightclub, a palace of glass and black marble illuminated by neon lights that shimmered through the rain. Only people with smelling money, and real power were allowed into this vicinity... and my next target, Blake Luca, was the nightclub's magnate who owned Luxe Noir—a small part of his vast empire. "Hope you know the details?," Mag asked, slightly tilting her head toward me. "You know exactly what to do tonight." I took a deep breath, forced a smile, and nodded. "Sure." Mag smirked, reached over and brushed my thigh, her rings cold as ice against my skin. Thirty minutes crawled by. Mag stayed buried in her phone, I turned to the window, watching the parade of wealth—luxury cars gliding in and out. A red Lamborghini Aventador splashed through a puddle and pulled into the parking lot, another yellow followed closely, then a black SUV rolled in slowly, and a truck packed with guards trailed behind. "Wow," I breathed, my forehead almost touching the cool glass. "Some dudes got real cash." The guards jumped out quickly, forming a human wall around the second yellow Lamborghini. A man stepped down, but I couldn't see him, the umbrellas and broad shoulders of the guards blocked everything. They walked him straight into the golden doors of Luxe Noir. “Mag?" With her face still buried in her phone, she chimed in, "Yeah?” “Who the hell was that dude?" Mag slowly lifted her head, "Who?" I pointed toward the spot where the luxury cars were parked, and her gaze followed. The sudden buzz of her phone made her look away instantly, her eyes darting to the screen before she swiped it without hesitation. "Murphy?" I rolled my eyes and leaned back. "Finally." Mag listened attentively for a few minutes, without speaking. "Thanks... you’d get your balance shortly," she hung up and turned to me, her face very serious now. "It’s him." "Who?" "Mr. Blake..." She tilted her head toward the parking spot. "Blake Luca." My eyes went wide. "That was him? All those guards for one man?" "Yes... he’s just like the others… trust me Rose. Murphy has everything under control. He is inside, and he will help you get to him okay?" That man, hidden behind a wall of giant guards, was terrifying. I felt a ball of fear in my chest, but I pushed it away almost immediately. Fear wasn’t an option tonight, I’d survived dangerous missions the past years, and this was no different. "Alright, Mag," I said, meeting her gaze steadily. She nodded, handing me a medium silver makeup kit. I grasped it with steady hands. Opening it, I traced fresh red lipstick over my lips, swept on eyeshadow and blended it just right, then brushed a hint of blush onto my cheeks. I adjusted my gown, smoothed the folds, and straightened, ready. "Remember the task," Mag warned. "The black file in his private quarters... I’m sure you know the details, the one holding the secret papers for the Dunes. If we get that file, we can have him begging on his knees. Without it, we have nothing. Get the file and get out." The rain had finally eased to a light drizzle. We shared one last look, then I pushed the heavy car door open and stepped out into the wet night, my heels clicking against the slick pavement as I walked toward the glowing lights of Luxe Noir without looking back.