Famine (The Four Horsemen, #3)

by Laura Thalassa

First he removes his boots; then, piece by piece, he unfastens his armor, his expression saying plainly that he hates all of this. And yet there’s no shyness or embarrassment when it comes to stripping. Not that he has anything to be embarrassed about … He levels the same displeased look at me even as he pulls off his shirt and then drops his pants and whatever he wears beneath them, tossing the last of his clothes over the side of the tub. I’m the one who has to school my features to keep my expression disinterested, because Holy Mother of God, even scowling at me, Famine is the most beautiful man I’ve seen in all my life. Every centimeter of him is sculpted muscle, his wide shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and a cock that is somehow pretty, despite the fact that it is every bit as displeased as the rest of Famine. My gaze travels back up his body, lingering on his glowing tattoos, which only seem to heighten his appearance. “Well?” he says. “Are you done staring?” I have to stifle a smile. Moody Famine is surprisingly fun to be around—at least when there’s no one present for him to kill.