I even let myself lean into his touch, pretending for a second that this man wants me. Until I remember that my love life is being meddled with by prophecies and the Fates. Oh, and, of course, the fact that I’m already bound to one toxic man. That memory works better than a cold shower, and I pull back, putting some distance between us.
At my pulling away, Sin stands, leaning against his favorite wall. Or at least, I figure it must be his favorite since he always hangs out there. Maybe I can make him a parking spot plaque.
“Now that you’re up, I just need to check on your stitches, and then I’ll leave.” The soothing voice from moments before is gone. Rough, angry-sounding Sin is back.
I sigh, relieved. I can handle this side of Sin.
Stepping out of bed, I realize I’m still in my fighting leathers, but all my blades are gone.
Sin nods at the chest at the foot of my bed. “They’re back in their place. I didn’t need you rolling over and stabbing yourself in your sleep.”
I huff back at him, “I would not.”
Sin looks back at me with a dubious expression that says he doesn’t believe a word that just came out of my mouth.
“You should be worried about me stabbing you in your sleep,” I mutter under my breath as I make my way over to my dresser.
I don’t miss the way he smirks at my threat. I might actually have to stab him someday to show him that I mean business.
“Let me find some shorts first,” I add, moving towards my dresser. It would be a very bad idea to be in my underwear around this man again, especially with him being nicer to me than usual and my not being in a world of blinding pain.
I dig around my drawers, trying to find a pair of shorts. Given the scars on my legs, I’m not even sure I own a pair. I’ve always tried to cover up.
When I find a pair, I reconsider and decide I’ll be better off wearing underwear. But before I can shove them back into the drawer, Sin is beside me, pulling them out and holding them up.
They’re a pair of loose-fitting, very short, pink pyjama shorts. They wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the pattern on them. They’re covered in cartoon kittens, all lounging around with piles of books. They are adorable. But one look at Sin’s face, and I know I will never live this moment down.
His expression is one of unadulterated joy, and he looks like he’s about to burst into laughter. “Here you are, kitten, you almost missed these.”
I snatch the shorts from him and storm into the bathroom, where I won’t have to look at his face.
I can hear him laughing through the door.
Screw him. Patterned pyjamas are entirely normal to have. If he wants to make fun of me, then I will make it my dying mission to raid his room for embarrassing items.
When I exit the washroom, Sin is still standing by the wall. His arms are crossed, but his hand is fisted over his mouth as if trying to contain himself.
I roll my eyes at him.
“Do Destroyers reach full maturity at three thousand years old? They’re pyjamas, Sin. Grow up,” I snap.
In response, Sin looks me up and down and flashes me a devilish smile.
My knees almost buckle.
“They suit you,” he notes, the laughter in his voice still coming through.
I stomp past him, sticking my tongue out as I make my way over to sit on the bed.
Am I acting like a mature adult? No. But considering this guy has millennia on me and is acting no better, I don’t care.
I sit on the edge of the bed, only to look up and find Sin stalking towards me. His playful expression is gone, replaced by one that is dangerously predatory as he kneels before me. On instinct, I move to pull my legs up so I can squirm away, but Sin only catches my legs, spreading my thighs so he can settle between them.
I forget how to breathe.
Injury. He’s checking my injury.
I repeat the thought, holding on to it for dear life.
