Something inside me snaps. I reach for her, cupping her face, dragging her mouth to mine. The kiss is brutal, too hard, but she doesn’t flinch. She takes it. Gives it back. Her fingers fist in my cut, pulling me closer until she’s nearly in my lap.
Her lips taste like fire and danger, like everything I should push away. My hand slides down her neck, gripping, owning, but when my thumb brushes her pulse, it slams into me—fast, frantic, matching mine.
This isn’t just lust.
It’s something else.
Something that could wreck me.
Something that could ruin me.
She gasps into my mouth, and I press her back into the chair, my body braced over hers. The urge to take it further roars in my blood, to push her knees apart, to take her right here against the table where I run my club. Claim her in the one place no one’s ever seen me vulnerable.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
And I won’t.
Not now.
Not after spilling everything I’ve buried.
I tear my mouth from hers, resting my forehead against hers, breathing like I’ve gone a round in the cage. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, lips kiss-bruised. She’s so goddamn beautiful it hurts.
“This is dangerous,” I rasp, my voice rough. “You and me in this room. I start something here, I won’t be able to stop it.”
Her hand slides up to the back of my neck, holding me there. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”
Fuck.Those words. That look. It’s almost my undoing.
I close my eyes, fighting for control, every muscle taut with restraint. “Not here, wildcat. Not in the Chapel. This place… it’s the only ground I keep clean.”
She studies me, searching, then nods, lips parting like she understands, even if she doesn’t like it.
I kiss her once more. Slower, deeper, with everything I can’t say, everything I am still hiding, before I pull back and force myself into the chair again. My chip sits on the table between us, glowing in the light, a reminder of everything I did lay bare.
Elizabeth leans back, watching me, her expression unreadable. But her presence fills the room, and for the first time in years, the Chapel doesn’t feel like a war room.
It feels like a fucking confessional.
And I know I’m in more damn trouble than I’ve ever been. Because Elizabeth could very well be my fucking downfall.
And I’m about to let her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
VICTORIA
The Next Morning
The weight of Sin’s arm across my waist anchors me to him like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. I hold my breath, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing behind me. Deep. Even. Peaceful in a way I’ve never seen him when he’s awake. Sin is always on, always strategizing, always three steps ahead, always carrying the weight of his club on those broad shoulders.
But right now, fast asleep, he’s just a man.
A man I’m falling hard and fast for.
The guilt wraps around my throat like a fist, squeezing until I can barely breathe. I need to move. Need to think. Need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do about the bomb that Marcus dropped in my lap.
