The air charges, heavy with lust. His breathing changes, deeper, controlled like he’s holding himself back by sheer will alone. His hand lands on the mattress by my thigh, his heat rolling into me.
“Seeing you out there today…” he growls, “… knowing you could’ve been taken from me in a blink. It fucked with my head. It made me realize something… I don’t want distance between us. Not anymore.”
“Then don’t,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
His hand cups my face, his thumb dragging across my lower lip like he owns it. His gaze pins me, hard, unrelenting. “You sure about this, wildcat? Because once I start, there’s no stopping. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”
I don’t bother with words. Rushing forward, I crush my mouth to his, and the kiss detonates, raw and violent in its intensity, all this tension and denial combusting at once. Histongue claims mine, dominating, tasting, devouring. I moan into him, fisting his shirt to pull him closer. I’m desperate.
He snarls against my mouth, then lifts me effortlessly, settling me astride his thighs. His cock strains against his jeans, pressing hot and hard against me, and the friction rips a gasp from my lips.
“Fuck, Elizabeth,” he groans into my throat, biting at the tender skin before licking the sting away. “You drive me out of my goddamn mind. I want to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”
Heat floods me, liquid and desperate, as I grind down against him. His grip clamps tight on my hips, guiding me, forcing me to take what I need as we dry hump on the bed.
“That’s it,” he rasps, breath hot against my collarbone. “Grind on me, baby. Show me how bad you want it. Because I promise you, I want it worse.”
His hands slide under my T-shirt, palms searing against my skin as they map the curve of my ribs, my waist. When his thumbs graze the underside of my breasts, I arch into his touch with a needy whimper.
“Please,” I breathe, not even sure what I’m begging for.
But Sin knows. His hands close around my breasts, rough palms and calloused thumbs teasing my nipples through the thin lace of my bra. Heat explodes through me, and I grind harder against him, desperate.
God, what am I doing?The thought cuts through the haze, sharp and accusing. This is the man who might have been there when Marcus died. The man who is tied to everything that destroyed my brother. And here I am, letting him touch me, wanting him to touch me. I should shove him away, claw back my dignity, cling to the memory of my brother like it’s a lifeline.
But when Sin growls, “Fuck, look at you. So needy for me. So fucking perfect,” the guilt tangles with a darker truth.
I don’t want him to stop.
He picks me up with such power and then throws me back onto the mattress. I gasp as he leans down, pressing me back onto the bed, covering me with his weight. The solid bulk of him makes me feel small, trapped, and wanted all at once. His mouth crashes against mine, the kiss rough and consuming, stealing every argument from my lips until there’s nothing left but need.
His hand drags down my body, over my stomach, stopping at the waistband of my yoga pants. His eyes catch mine, hard and demanding.
“You want my hand in your panties, wildcat? You ready to let me feel how wet you are for me?”
My body screams yes, but somewhere inside me, Marcus’s face flickers like a ghost.
I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t want this.
Yet my voice betrays me, breathless and desperate.
“Yes… please, yes!”
His smirk is pure sin. His hand slips beneath the fabric, fingers sliding through my slick folds. I cry out, my hips jerking into his touch.
“Christ,” he groans. “So fucking wet. You’re drenching me, Elizabeth. This pussy was made for me.”
Shame curls in my chest, but it’s crushed under the weight of pleasure. My brother is dead, and maybe I’m spitting on his memory by letting this man have me. But Marcus isn’t here, and I am. And right now, all I want is Sin.
His fingers work me mercilessly, coaxing every sound from my throat, building me higher and higher until I’m trembling. Just when I’m about to shatter, he pulls away, leaving me wrecked and whimpering.
“Not yet,” he rasps, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You don’t come until I’ve got my mouth on you. I need to taste what’smine.”
The words should horrify me. Instead, they ignite me. He kisses his way down my body, branding me with lips and teeth. When he reaches the hem of my shirt, he glances up, eyes burning.
