Under the soft lantern light, Kaisen strutted toward the large bed, draped in silks and pillows that probably cost more than his dignity.
Helena looked like a sleeping angel—if angels had curves that could make a saint sin—and Kaisen's heart pounded like a jackhammer on caffeine.
'How the fuck is this bitch so damn perfect? If I'd seen her on the streets, I'd have jumped her like a dog on a fresh, juicy steak!'
His brain knew it was exaggerating, but the rest of him didn't give a shit. He'd have seduced her—smooth, confident, maybe even gotten her to slap him so he could at least feel her hand on his face. Hell, he'd take any contact at this point.
'Man, no matter how many women I taste, it's never fucking enough!'
