Cracking His Code
Scanning a particularly graphic paragraph on page two-hundred-and-four, a wicked idea forms in my mind.
Lowering the book, I glance over at the dining table. Kirill is reading a tactical report, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looks incredibly severe.
It’s so fucking hot.
Clearing my throat loudly, I shift on the cushions.
"You know, the prose in this book is actually quite impressive," I say casually, breaking the silence of the room.
"The author has a real talent for descriptive scenes."
Kirill doesn't look up from his report.
"Fascinating."
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