Page 208 of Sinister

“You have me,” I say but somehow the words come out mangled and breathless, scattering away under the heaving grunts issuing from both our mouths.

Just then, Sin shifts position and spreads my legs wider, effectively pushing even deeper inside me.

“Come for me, love. I need to see your beautiful face when you come undone.”

By now, I’m close to the edge, and this final thrust sends me over it.

The waves of pleasure thrum over my legs, starting from somewhere deep inside and rippling through my insides. I cry out at the never-ending release, tears flowing down my cheeks. My muscles tighten around his cock as I rotate my hips, needing to pull him over the edge with me.

Sin lets out a harsh groan as his warm release coats my inside.

He collapses next to me, careful not to crush me, and he gathers me in his arms, his hands resting on my belly. I can barely keep my eyes open, but the last thing I hear before a dreamless sleep engulfs me is Sin’s voice.

“Oh, Petra, you’re so beautiful, so achingly beautiful . . .”

The next morning, I wake up to the soft light of the Victorian lamps mounted over the bed. When I roll around and find the space next to me empty but still warm from Sin’s body, I sit up in distress.

But almost immediately, I notice a note left on the pillow beside me:

Petra,

I had to step out for a little to check up on my sister. I’ll hopefully be back before you wake up and bring some food. Rest well, sweetheart. You deserve it.

P.S. I can still smell you on my skin. Best perfume I could ever ask for.

Yours,

Sin

And though I’m put out at being left alone the day after our first proper sexual encounter, the message comforts me, and I lie back down, pulling the covers around me.

Memories of last night are forever etched in my mind, and as the images of our entangled bodies flood my inner eye, I feel a shiver run through my limbs.

This is what all the fuss is about, I think briefly, pleasantly, before drifting back into a mellow spell of slumber.

Yet the echo of one word resounds in my mind, even as sleep claims me.

Yours.

60

PETRA

May 1896

“Before you ask,” Sin adds with a laugh, “I did not sell my soul for this strange ability. Unfortunately, I was born with it.”

“W-what?”

“Why don’t I make you some tea, and we can talk more?” he says suddenly, pivoting toward the small kitchen set up in the corner of the room.

He busies himself for a moment, making two cups of tea before returning to the center of the living room. He pats the cushion next to him on the sofa, and I hesitantly sit down.

“Thank you,” I murmur as he hands me the cup. I wrap both hands around it, letting the warmth calm my nerves. “Tell me about your powers,” I ask directly. “When did you first notice them?”

He exhales, his eyes far away. “I’m not exactly sure. Maybe they’ve always been there. But I remember odd things starting to happen when I was around three or four years old. Small items would go missing or move without explanation.

“At first, everyone at the orphanage thought it was a prank. But soon the incidents became so widespread, they thought the building was haunted. It wasn’t until they saw me unintentionally moving objects with the help of the shadows that they realized it was coming from me.”