Page 80 of Where Sinners Repent

Over his shoulder, I see Maddy grinding over Ash and men approaching them. The air turns thick and heavy, and my own breaths quicken.

“Wish I could say the same,” he rasps but his eyes flick between mine and a hunger burns in them.

If I had to guess, the man has just returned from killing people. And that seems to be his sick sort of foreplay if his erection from the other night was anything to go by.

My body ignites with heat at the thought of it.

Without warning, he twists my wrist over, exposing the inside of my forearm. His thumb stills.

His eyes fix on the pale, raised scar tissue on my skin. The matching burns to his brother’s. He studies them with his scary focus, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

All of a sudden, he’s shoving me backwards. My feet barely keep up as he pushes me away from everyone.

No one stops us or even looks in our direction. The Devils are too busy celebrating their win.

I’m shoved into a familiar room in the back. One with a long table that’s currently empty. The moment we’re through, the heavy door slams shut behind us.

Every sound becomes dull between the wood, and silence settles between us. Just his hard body pressed close to mine. His rough hand around my wrist.

It’s the wine. It must be. Because my eyes settle on his pillowy lips, and a hunger I can barely contain swarms my mind.

I jump on him, my mouth crashing against his.

He growls, teeth latching onto my bottom lip and clamping down until I cry out, coppery blood filling my mouth. Pulling back, I glare at him.

It’s his turn to pounce, as he releases my wrist and grips the back of my hair instead. This time, when he kisses me, his tongue is in my mouth.

Searching, tasting and fucking devouring.

I grind against him, his thick erection demanding attention. Fuck, he’s sick. What does that make me?

When he pulls away, his lip curls in disgust. Like he’s disgusted with himself for his reaction.

Right now, I don’t really fucking care.

“Get undressed,” he demands in a low, dangerous voice.

Lifting my chin, I glare at him. The corner of his mouth curves into a cruel smirk as he steps closer into my space.

“Either you get undressed, or a slice these baggy fucking clothes off your body with my bloody fucking knife.”

My eyes round, and my hands work on their own accord, gripping my hoodie and pulling it over my head.

My bare breasts heave with every forced breath I take. My Ugg boots come off next, followed by pants. This time, I’m not wearing any panties, and his eyes laser in on my pussy, licking his lips.

I shiver, seeing the need in his eyes. Because his need comes with a mix of pleasure and pain so intense, it’s like Russian roulette. I never know if a bullet’s in the chamber.

“Bend over the table, Black Cat,” he grits out. “Present for me.”

Fear twists in my stomach, yet an even stronger pull urges me to obey. A pull that has me planting my hands on the table and bending until my ass is on full display.

Until he can see my obvious arousal.

His dangerous heat trails down my back as he crouches behind me. With his head level with my pussy and I feel more vulnerable than I ever have.

“Use your hands to spread your cunt open,” he orders, and I feel his warm breath dust over my heated core.

Shame burns hot up my chest and face as I reach back, melting against the table, and spread myself. There is no hiding from him like this.