As the jet surged forward, lifting us into the sky, he finally buckled himself in, but his hand never left mine. Our fingers stayed locked, bruising tight. His thigh pressed against mine, warm, solid and unforgiving.
Above the clouds, wrapped in stolen heat and the ache of everything I’d ruined, I looked at him and whispered, “You were never disposable. You’re the only thing I can’t replace.”
He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t let go either. And that was enough—for now.
Sin poured us a drink without asking the attendant, who huffed when he grabbed a bottle of Bourbon. He knew I needed it—knew I’d be lost without the confidence it gave me. His fingers trembled slightly as he handed me the glass, the amber liquid catching the warm, low lighting of the jet’s interior like molten gold in a chalice.
The cabin was decadence incarnate—soft leather seats the color of bone, polished wood gleaming like wet blood, gold-plated fixtures catching every flicker of overhead light. Luxury meant to soothe. To distract. But it couldn’t touch the chaos that lived between us.
I didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect me to. Gratitude had no place between us while we teetered on a precious edge of our own making.
We drank in silence. A long, smothering stretch of it. The kind of silence that pressed into your ears until your own heartbeat sounded like a gunshot. It sat between us like a third body, thick with pain and the hunger that tethered us together.
Outside, the endless night sky roared beyond the windows—velvet black with scattered stars, the private jet cutting through it like a blade. But inside, it was just us even though there were at least five other people onboard.
Just pain and obsession and this beautiful, terrifying ruin we called connection.
Sin leaned back into the buttery leather seat across from me, his jaw tight, his eyes rimmed red but sharpened now. Like that kiss—that war of teeth, breath and desperation—had hollowed him out and left something feral gleaming behind.
I finished my drink and set the glass down with a sharp click that echoed through the quiet cabin. “Shower?” I asked, the air laced with something so volatile it made it hum.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
The jet’s en suite bathroom was larger than most penthouse apartments—marble tiles, gold fixtures and glass, steam already beginning to curl along the ceiling as I slowly stripped, never breaking eye contact with him.
I peeled my shirt off like a wound unraveling, fabric clung to my sweat-slicked skin. The click of my belt buckle undoing was like a starting gun and Sin swiftly removed his clothes.
Sin watched with that same haunted reverence—like I was a cathedral burning, and he wanted to kneel inside the fire. But he didn’t kneel. He closed the space between us, eyes gone dark, a storm building behind them and shoved me into the cubicle.
Under the pounding water, he kissed me—no restraint, no hesitation, no lines left un-crossed.
He slammed me back against the slick tiled wall, one hand twisted in my hair, the other gripping my chin. His mouth was fire and fury, teeth sinking into my lip until a fresh burst of copper coated across our tongues. He moaned—a sound torn from the wreckage of control.
“I hate you,” he whispered against my mouth. “I hate what you’ve made me feel. What I vowed never to let myself feel.”
My arms wrapped around him, fingers sinking into his wet curls holding him there. “You feel it because it’s real.”
We devoured each other.
The water poured down around us like a storm, scorching and relentless. Steam coiled around our bodies, the pressure bruising, the heat searing our skin. Sin’s hands moved like a man starving—dragging down my sides, mapping out ribs like piano keys, sliding around my back to grip my ass hard enough to leave fingerprints. He pulled me into him with a desperation that made something inside me crack.
His touch wasn’t gentle. It wasclaiming. Like he was trying to crawl inside me, or tear me open and see what lived beneath all the polished detachment I wore like armor.
Our lips collided—not a kiss but a collision, a car crash of desperation. I kissed him like I was drowning, and he was the only thing keeping me tethered to this fucked-up world. Like if I opened wide enough, our atoms would fuse, and I could be remade from the inside out.
His mouth tasted like heat and hunger, like every craving I’d denied myself and every sin I’d ever wanted to commit. Ourcocks slid together, slick and throbbing, every brush a brutal tease, every grind a spark that threatened to ignite us both. We moaned into each other’s mouths—not soft, or pretty, but guttural, and raw.
“Fuck, baby—” His voice shattered against my lips. “You feel so good against me.”
His name—Sin—wasn’t a title. It was a prophecy.
I gripped his hair, dragging his head back, needing to see the strain in his throat, his pulse fluttering under the skin. I latched on to that exposed hollow, sucking down hard enough to bruise. To claim. He was panting, his breath catching on each exhale—a stutter, a break, a crack in his armor. I wanted to destroy him and worship him in the same breath, wanted to ruin him for anyone else and be the only one who could put him back together.
“I’ve missed you.” The words came from him like a confession. Like they hurt to speak. His voice scraped through the air, rough and frayed, like he’d pulled it from some dark place deep inside. “You know that, don’t you?”
My chest ached. That ache you get when you look at the thing you want most in the world and realize you’ve already carved it into your soul. I smiled against his throat, but it wasn’t sweet. It was dangerous.
“I know.” But I didn’t know what to do with it.
