“I know I have asked so much. I shouldn’t ask more…I’m greedy. Pathetic. I should repent. Maybe I can pray the feelings away, go back to being numb to it all…”
Shut up. You have asked more than any should of another. No good Samaritan will humor your plight.
I barely manage a breath before his other hand finds my waist, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric. My name leaves his lips again, rougher than before, and then he’s pulling me closer, his strength effortless, lifting me like I weigh nothing.
A startled gasp escapes me as the whole world tilts, my hands clutching at his shoulders. My legs instinctively tighten around him, holding on. He buries his face in the hollow of my neck,exhaling like he’s been holding his breath for days. The sound that leaves him is low, raw, and it sends something spiraling through me.
My head spins, breath jagged. When he sets me down on the counter, the room feels smaller. Hotter. He stands between my knees, close enough that I can feel every ragged breath he takes. One hand lingers at my thigh, but it doesn’t wander—just presses there.
For a heartbeat, neither of us move, then he whispers against my skin, voice rough, breaking apart.
“You can do better than me, Dove. I can’t give you what you want.”
You already have. You’ve been my salvation, even when you were supposed to be my ruin.
I want to tell him he’s good—that the darkness in him doesn’t erase the light—but the words tangle in my throat.
“You are what I want,” I whisper.
He moves, just enough to make the air catch in my lungs. The hardness of him presses against the softness of me, and I feel the heat coil low in my belly.
Sin.
Pleasure.
Something too sacred, too dangerous to survive.
Why do I crave this? Why does it feel like worship?
My eyes fall shut, and I let him consume me.
“Please…” My voice shatters, and I don’t even care that it’s desperate. “More.”
If sin had a taste, it would be Trey Baker.
I don’t know if this is Greed, Gluttony, or Lust—maybe it’s all of them.
I think, for the first time, I understand what damnation truly means… Only I don’t care.
Because if I’m destined to burn, let it be with Trey Baker beside me.
“Tell me to stop…or I won’t.” A shiver rips through me when his lips descend on the curve of my neck again, breath hot and uneven.
“Don’t stop…please. Don’t stop.” My hands fumble in his hair, nails digging in, needing more of him, needing to feel every inch of him pressed against me. He tilts his head, dragging his mouth down toward my chest, and the oversized shirt I’m wearing does nothing to shield me from the fire of him.
A gasp leaves me as he presses his mouth against my breast through the thin cotton, lips and teeth working in ways I didn’t know could make me this exposed. My back arches, hips pressing up, aching for more friction, more of him. Every sound that leaves me is raw, unrestrained, and I feel him shiver at it.
“Please…Trey…please,” I pant, hands clawing at his shoulders, pulling him closer. “I need…”
“I know what you need, baby,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine, stormy and dark. One hand slides slowly up my thigh, teasing closer, brushing against the top of my panties. My breath catches in my throat, eyes widening as I nod, letting him know that it’s okay—that I want this.
That I want him.
His mouth moves back to my chest, sucking and nipping at my nipple through the fabric, drawing a moan from deep inside me, one I didn’t know I could make.
“Holy fuck, baby…your pussy is crying for me.” He groans, one hand cupping me over the fabric, thumb rolling in slow, exquisite circles. My hips buck instinctively, grinding toward him, craving his touch even more. I let out a breathless moan, pulling him closer. I don’t know what he’s doing. I don’t know what my body is doing. My chest aches with need.
“Please…Trey…don’t stop…”
