His hand slides to the hem of my hoodie, fingers curling there, waiting. Asking.
I nod once, small.
He draws it up slowly, careful, like he’s unwrapping something sacred instead of taking. My arms lift without thinking, letting him pull it over my head. The cool air kisses my skin and I shiver.
Sin’s gaze drops, then lifts back to my eyes, like he refuses to make me feel watched instead of wanted.
My fingers find the edge of his cut, push it off his shoulders, then his shirt, revealing muscles, tattoos, and scars. I tug him closer until his heat surrounds me.
He makes a low sound that goes straight through me.
Then his mouth finds mine again, and his hands move with a patience that feels like devotion.
The couch creaks.
My pulse races.
His voice is rough against my lips. “Still sure?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Say it,” he murmurs.
“I’m sure.”
His hands slide lower, pulling me closer, and the world goes soft at the edges. All I can focus on is the heat radiating from his body.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my sweats, pausing there as if to give me one last chance to pull back.
My heart thunders in my chest, but I lift my hips just enough, a silent, trembling affirmation.
He tugs them down slowly, the soft fabric dragging over my skin, taking my panties with it in one motion, leaving me fully exposed.
Sin's eyes darken, drinking me in. He shifts back on his knees, his own arousal obvious in the tight bulge straining against his jeans, the denim stretched taut over his hips.
With a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest, he unbuttons them, the metallic snick echoing in the quiet room. He shoves the zipper down, peeling off his jeans along with his briefs.
His cock springs out, thick and heavy, veins pulsing along its length, the broad head flushed deep red and already leaking a bead of precum.
It throbs visibly, standing proud from the nest of dark hair at its base, and I can't tear my eyes away, a mix of awe and nervous anticipation swirling in my gut.
Sin doesn't push, though; he never does.
Instead, he leans in, his broad shoulders parting my thighs wider, settling between them. His hands stroke up my legs, callused palms rough against my smooth skin, sending sparks racing up my spine.
“You're beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Every inch of you. Let me show you how much I want this. How much I want you.”
His words wrap around me like a caress, melting the last of my hesitations.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asks, his breath hot against my inner thigh, lips brushing the sensitive skin there in a feather-light kiss that makes me gasp.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice breathy, hands clenching the worn leather of the couch cushions beneath me. “I'm with you. Always.”
That seems to undo him a little. His eyes hood with desire, and he lowers his head, his mouth hovering just above my pussy.
The first touch is gentle, a soft press of his lips to my outer folds like he's savoring a forbidden fruit. Then his tongue darts out, parting me with a slow lick that traces from my entrance up to my clit.
I arch off the couch with a sharp cry, the sensation electric, unlike anything I've ever imagined.
