Page 45 of Two Sides of Sin

I scrambled over the centre console into the backseat. The neon glow from the screen hit the leather in bright streaks. I sat back and began to unbutton my shirt. One button. Two.

“You’re not going to make me clean up this mess all by myself, are you?”

Julian practically dove into the backseat, his shirt coming off in one fluid motion. He pushed my skirt up, his hands rough and domineering. “I’ve missed your pretty pussy,” he growled.

He reached down, his fingers playing with me before he inserted a single finger—just enough to make me let out a gasp. “God, you’re so tight. I can feel you pulsing around me. Is this what you want, Junebug? Tell me.”

“Yes,” I sobbed. “Please, Julian. More.”

He pushed his finger in deep, finding the spot I’d been craving. Then he lowered his head. The moment his tongue hit me, the world outside vanished. He was relentless, devouring me with a hunger that matched my own. It barely took any time before my body began to spasm in an uncontrollable release. He was too good at this.

As the echoes of my moans faded, the world slowly began to bleed back in. My breath was shallow, and my legs were trembling. Julian didn’t pull away immediately, his head remained against my thigh, his breath hot. When he finally looked up, his lips were plump, glistened with the evidence of my arousal. He looked at me with pure awe.

He began to plant soft, lingering kisses along my inner thighs, making me squirm and giggle despite the exhaustion.

“That was… so good,” I managed to choke out.

He sat up and pulled me into his lap. It was only then I realised the massive screen ahead of us was blank. The rows of cars were gone. The lot was empty. We were the last ones left.

A startled laugh escaped my lips. “Julian, look. Everyone’s gone!”

A grin broke across his face, a real, genuine grin. “I guess we missed the ending,” he teased.

“We missed the whole movie,” I corrected.

He laughed, before scrambling back into the driver’s seat and firing up the engine. “We should probably get out of here,” he said with a playful wink. “In case someone called the cops on the ‘public indecency’ in the back row.”

Chapter 34

Julian

Iwas coming through the front door, the weight of the groceries in my arms a mundane, domestic comfort I’d almost started to believe was tangible. I’d bought the fancy pasta she liked and the heavy cream for the sauce Nana used to make. I was trying to build a life out of ingredients and apologies.

Then the sound hit me.

Smashing. Crashing. The sound of a room being torn apart by someone who no longer cared about the cost of the crystal. I dropped the bags—glass jars shattering against the hardwood, olive oil and milk pooling into a mixed mess and sprinted towards the stairs.

Then came the screams.

It was a bellowing sound that tore through the air, vibrating through the manor halls. It was a raw wail of soul-destroying betrayal.

“June! June, where are you?”

The wailing finally gave me a pinpoint. I rounded the corner into Cain’s office, and my stomach bottomed out. I was screwed. I knew this would happen. I told Cain.

The office was a graveyard of broken things. Paperwork and journals were strewn like fallen snow. Smashed scotch bottles and overturned ashtrays littered the floor, the smell of alcohol and ash thick enough to choke on. In the centre of the wreckage sat June. She looked so small, her hands trembling as they clutched a crumpled stack of papers.

The sight of her made me feel physically sick. Her face was swollen, her eyes bloodshot. But when she looked up, her gaze didn’t hold the warmth I’d spent months reclaiming. It was cold and accusing.

“Tell me you didn’t know!” she screamed.

I froze. “June, what… what are you talking about?”

She held up the papers, and I felt the blood drain from my face. It was her applications. I remembered the night Cain had stood by the fireplace, the orange light dancing in his eyes as he told me the “evidence of her ambition” had been reduced to ash. He’d promised me she would never find out.

But there it was. A thick envelope, the corner torn, and her personal essay. The one she’d stayed up until 3:00 AM writing—lying on the floor, never even stamped. Cain hadn’t burnt them all. He’d kept some like trophies.

“These were supposed to be in the mail, Julian!” she sobbed. “I worked so hard. Why are they here? Why are they in his desk draw?”