Page 156 of Sinister

His skin is hot, soft, and though I might find the size of him alarming, the way my body clenches in anticipation tells me that we would fit just fine.

“Ah, sweet Petra,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed. “I need you so badly.”

Perhaps it’s bold of me to do so, but I grab his cheeks with my paint-stained hands and bring him closer until his lips brush against mine.

“What do you need? Tell me.”

Surprise flickers across his features.

“You would give it to me?” he whispers.

“I’m not scared of you, Sin. Despite everything, I’m . . .” I trail off, unable to vocalize the strange array of feelings he inspires in me. And though there might be an echo of fear still within me, it’s morphed into something else, something resembling more like excitement than true terror. “I’m here,” I say eventually.

He regales me with a gorgeous smile as he places a small kiss on my nose before moving my hands lower, to his cock.

The first touch surprises me. For something that looks so menacing, he’s soft, fiery, almost melting in my hand.

“Like that,” he rasps as he pushes his hips forward, his member sliding in and out of my hands. “Just like that.” His features tighten, and he releases an animalistic sound as he utters a low, “Fuck,” before a substance spills over my stomach in white spurts.

It meets the red of the paint, and together they make a mosaic of experience: lust and . . . love?

I gulp down, unable to tear my eyes away from his face. So beautiful, so agonizingly vulnerable in this moment.

I keep my grip on his cock as the last of the tremors subside from his body.

He crashes on top of me, though still keeping most of his weight off me.

It’s a strange feeling. He’s warmth and comfort where I once thought he was going to be my damnation.

Instead, as I hold him close to my body, basking in his presence, only one word seems to drift through my mind.

Home . . . he feels like home.

I wake up with a start. Immediately, I take note of my surroundings and realize I’m in my room, in my nightgown, with not one hair out of place.

It was a dream after all . . . though sometimes I wonder how I could conjure up things I know nothing about.

A deep chasm opens in my heart as I realize the dream Sin, that tender, funny man from that dream, is just that . . . a figment of my imagination.

46

PETRA

A loud noise downstairs draws my attention.

I open the door and peer over the banister just in time to see a flurry of movement in the entryway: footmen coming and going, carrying boxes into the house.

With a small spike of apprehension, I make my way down, only to see that Leah—my brother’s fiancé—has arrived with her ever-present chaperone, some distant aunt of no clear relation.

My brother is in the midst of issuing commands to the staff, his scarred hand tucked behind his back as if to hide the evidence of his recent injury.

The wound had kept him bedridden for a full week, the physician checking in daily to stave off infection. But that hadn’t swayed my father or him from continuing with plans for the engagement party at the end of the month.

As I step into the drawing room, I offer Leah a quiet greeting. “Hello,” I say, and she looks up with a small, tremulous smile.

“Hi, Petra,” she whispers.

Though we’ve only seen each other a few times since that first awkward dinner, there’s been a silent understanding between us. I can tell she wants to speak more, that she has something to say—if only she could get out from under the scrutiny of her ever-watchful guardian.