Page 111 of Sinister

It’s . . . not painful? But that realization barely registers because another worry takes its place.

There, where he’s touching me, drops of moisture spill out from within me, coating his fingers.

“Sin,” I whisper in embarrassment.

“Ah, fuck, Petra,” he groans. “You’re wet.” The last word is uttered in reverence. “My woman is wet for me.” He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.

“Is that . . . good?” I ask tentatively

“Good? It’s all I’ve ever dreamed about. My sweet, sweet Petra.” He removes his hand from under my skirt and brings it to his mouth, licking his fingers clean. “Sweet Petra with an even sweeter pussy.”

I redden at his use of such a word, but then I find myself growing even wetter at the gesture.

He grins at me as he touches me there again, this time probing, searching, learning. He presses one finger inside of me, and I instinctively tighten my muscles.

“Easy,” he whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I nod.

He pushes his finger in and out of me a few times, his expression one of reverence. “You’re so tight. I can’t wait to . . .” He trails off and shakes his head.

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t

Instead, his fingers move slightly higher. I feel a zap of electricity shoot through me, and I lose all train of thought.

“Oh!”

He smiles. “That’s perfect. Tell me everything you’re feeling.”

“It’s strange but . . . good?”

His thumb presses on that spot again, and the same spark ignites within me.

Watching my expression carefully, he continues to swirl his thumb around that pressure center. Each time, the spark gains strength. It slowly builds in my lower stomach, like a matchstick striking against a match safe in search of ignition.

His strokes gain speed, and at the same time, he leans in to kiss me again.

Perhaps it’s his wicked hand movements, perhaps it’s his kiss, or perhaps both. But something erupts within me, my entire body tensing as he swallows my moans.

“What . . .” I whisper, barely able to find my voice. “What was that?”

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re so beautiful when you come undone, Petra.”

“I . . .” I blink away tears. My eyes are moist. My entire body is languid and relaxed. I gaze at him, and warmth unfurls inside me. “Sin . . .”

He removes his hand from between my legs and arranges my skirt back into place.

Pulling me into his arms, he cradles my head to his chest and rocks lightly with me.

“Thank you for giving me this,” he whispers in my hair. “For allowing me to touch you.”

The euphoria from before slowly clears from my mind, and I start to ask myself questions: Why is he suddenly so gentle, so obsequious, when before he would have been fine bartering his soul for a kiss?

Yet just as I want to voice my concerns aloud, a knock at the door fills the silence.

He tenses, his arms tightening around me.

Another knock.