I want him to sing to me so damn bad, but I’m too prideful to ask.
Having just seen him after so many days apart, things feel new and weird again. Maybe because of that fucking kiss. There’s just something about Sin’s mouth that’s always managed to get me into trouble.
And those fingers … the idle hands of the devil.
“You’re too good at this,” I murmur, pushing at his wrist. He refuses to budge, keeping his gaze on my face, the scar on the right side of his lip pulling at his mouth and granting me that crooked smile I love so much. “It pisses me off, thinking about how you might’ve gained this skill.”
“Consider it balance: I had to sleep with girls I didn’t love, so that you could sleep with three other men you do love.” He shrugs one shoulder loosely, turning us and encouraging me to lean against the wall as he fucks me nice and slow with his inked hand, my fingers curled over his shoulders as he keeps me standing and soaks my panties with desire. “You’re a married woman now. Somehow, I always knew I’d fall in love with a married woman.”
“Seems like your jam,” I whisper back, but the sensation of his fingers, stroking and petting and coaxing, are too much. It’s hard to be coy when I’m being played like an instrument.
Sin lets out a sharp laugh, releasing me suddenly and sliding his hand from my pants. He lifts his glossy fingers to his mouth as I give him a look. Our eyes lock as he slides both between his lips, sucking my heat off and groaning like he loves the taste of me.
“You’re sick,” I growl at him, slamming my palm into his shoulder. He grunts in pain, and my eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m an idiot. I didn’t hit you in the gunshot, did I?”
“In the gunshot,” Sin says with a small half-smile and a sigh. “No, but you were close.” The smiles fades as quickly as it came, and then Sin is putting his hands on my shoulders and searching my face with desperation. “All of it was close, Gidge.”
I slap his hand away with a frown.
“Don’t forget that I know where those fingers just were. Don’t touch me.” I try to push him off, but he holds me there, that intense gaze boring into me the way it always does. Somehow, Sin knows how to find pockets of sadness and melancholy; he knows how to pop them and watch them bleed.
I feel myself shifting uncomfortably beneath his stare, and he releases me, standing up straight and running a hand over that blue hair of his. I’m happy to see that the myriad silver hoops in his right ear are back. He just wouldn’t be Colton Young without a little pizzazz.
“You’re sure this is what you want?” he asks, his right hand scratching at the back of his head in thought.
“This?” I query, looking back at him and trying to ignore the throbbing between my thighs.
“Life on this compound is going to get so much worse before it gets better,” he promises me, frowning hard. “But it’s not too late to run.”
“I thought we had this conversation?” I ask, trying to subtly move us toward his bedroom. He notices and quirks a cocky smile at me.
“You don’t have to try so damn hard, Gidge.” He leans in, putting one hand on the newel post and then running his tongue up the side of my face in a way that makes me shudder. “I’m a sure thing.”
“Well, Mr. Sure Thing, can we just move this along then?” I snap, and Sin gives me a look.
“Things are different now that Cat knows. You understand that, right? For now, with the Grey Wolfe Mafia on our asses, he’s busy. But what happens when he isn’t? What happens after all of this is over?”
“What are you suggesting? That we start over somewhere else?” I ask, considering it for a moment. We could, if we really wanted to. The five of us … We could take Reba and Fem along for the ride; Grey might even consider joining us. Leave this place behind and start fresh somewhere new, somewhere without the club, without Cat, without death threats and bullshit …
But then I think about my father, and how he chose me over Gaz. I think about Nellie. I think about all the families that are staying on the compound because it’s too dangerous to leave.
Sin could walk away from this and start a new life. Beast, too. But Crown and Grainger are so deep into the club; I’m not sure that they would want to leave. Would they help me go? Sure. But they might not come with.
There’s all of that, and then there’s me.
I don’t want to run from the club; I want to take the reins of it.
Like father, like daughter.
“We’re not leaving,” I say after a moment, when Sin doesn’t answer my previous question. Instead, he waits there and lets me think about it. “We’re staying.”
Sin nods, like that’s the answer he expected, but he gives me a look that speaks volumes.
“Cat came to see me today before I left the hospital. I don’t think he was there just for me, in particular. He had other business to deal with, but let’s just say that he wasn’t especially happy to see me.”
“Did he threaten you?” I ask, but Sin just shakes his head.
“Not exactly. Mostly, he wanted to know about you.”
“Me?” I ask, trying to decide what, exactly, Cat might want to know. He’s only seen me once since the wedding. Just once. If he’s been on the compound while I was working in the clubhouse then he made sure to stay way the hell away from me.
“You,” Sin confirms, looking uncomfortable as fuck as he stands there and crosses his arms over his chest. I find my gaze drawn to his tattoos instead of his face. I’ve always wondered why he’d ink himself with old-school Americana, but now that I know him a little better, it makes sense. Carrying around that sense of forgotten nostalgia on his skin is just the sort of thing he’d do, wishing for a time period he never saw, that he’ll never live. He’s a romantic and, I realize, as I stand there and stare at him, so am I. A big one. Huge. I’m almost disgusted with myself. “He asked me all sorts of questions.”
“Like?” I query, and Sin sighs, reaching up to scratch at his temple.
“When we first fucked.” He looks me dead in the face. “What I knew about you and Grey and Crown’s bike.”
“What did you say to him?” I ask, alarm making my chest tight. Even as I’m beginning to understand Cat, I don’t fear him any less or trust him any more. He’s terrifying. And if he’s digging into the situation like this, it’s not because he’s curious about his one and only surviving child. It’s because he’s looking to dig up dirt on me.
“I told him the truth about the night we slept together,” Sin admits, and I exhale, crossing my arms under my breasts. It’s best to tell as much of the truth as possible, whenever possible, just so it’s harder for people to catch the lies. But the second half of that equation … “As far as the rest of it, we agreed that it’s best if Cat doesn’t know the full story. Crown and Beast have taken responsibility for the whole of it—even if we all admitted to sleeping with you.” He pauses and reconsiders his words for a moment. “To still be sleeping with you.”
I try to make myself breathe, but it’s difficult. I end up letting out a whoosh of air as Sin studies my reaction. He could say that he warned me, that he tried to save me from all of this, that I should’ve married him and let him transfer the two of us to a chapter in another state, away from the mafia and the bullshit. Instead, he waits for me to process that.
Sin and Grainger are not necessarily off the hook, but this story helps. It helps because if Cat decides to exact punishment on his officers, it’ll be Crown first that heads to the guillotine and Beast second. It was impossible to hide Crown’s involvement, obviously. And then Beast agreeing to marry me, letting me stay in Crown’s house, fuck Crown … Anyway, Crown would’ve needed help cleaning up my mess; it was clear he didn’t work alone.
“Cat won’t believe that,” I say, but Sin just shrugs.
“Maybe not, but that’s the story. There’s no proof to the contrary anyway.”
I narrow my eyes on him and turn away, casting a disparaging look over my shoulder.
; “You sure do know how to make a girl wet … and then also dry her up, don’t you?” I turn away and continue on toward Sin’s bedroom, knowing full-well that at least half of that statement was a lie.
Sin follows along behind me—yes, physically as well as metaphorically—and flings his bedroom door closed behind us. Before I can even decide where I’m going to sit or what I’m going to do, he’s wrapping an arm around my waist and pushing the front of my thighs up against the edge of the bed.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said that you and Grey would’ve had a terrible sex life,” he murmurs, and then he pushes me forward and my palms hit the mattress. Sin’s right hand glides back into my pants and those deft fingers of his slide into my soaking wet heat, drawing my own slick out and using it as lube to rub the hardened nub of my clit. “You don’t want someone prim and proper, someone who sits with a straight spine and reads old books that nobody gives a shit about.”
I suck in a sharp breath as Sin’s body envelops mine. He’s leaned over me, his left arm curled around my waist, keeping me pinned tight between him and the bed while his right hand works my aching body into a frenzy.
“I don’t?” I whisper back, struggling to find my voice in the face of unrelenting pleasure. Sin squeezes my clit between two fingers, teasing the hood back and then stroking the bare nerve endings with the tip of another finger. “What do I want, Sin? Tell me.”
“Me.” That’s what he says, the cocky fuck, just before he drives three fingers into me this time, fucking me with his hand as I moan and push my ass against him, craving his cock, wanting him to strip down so I can see that lean, inked body of his, so that I can feel him inside of me and reassure myself that he’s still here. When he shoved me aside to face Gaz on his own, I wondered if that wasn’t going to be the last time we ever laid eyes on one another. “Come for me, Gidge,” he purrs, the melodic quality of his voice nearly driving me to my knees. If he wasn’t holding me so tightly, I might actually have collapsed onto the mattress. “I want you to clamp down hard on my fingers; I want to feel your liquid heat all over my hand.”
I let out this dark, mournful sort of sound, like I’m coming apart on the inside, and with my palms braced on the mattress, I ride Sin’s hand, eking out every last scrap of pleasure that I can get. It feels so good. I know I’m going to come before he even puts his cock in me.
“I have a confession to make,” Sin tells me, his breathing harsh and ragged, almost desperate. But still, he doesn’t replace his hand with his dick. Not yet. “I need to tell you something.”
I’m past the point of caring about whatever it is. I just want more. I bite my lip and work my hips, grinding down against Sin’s knuckles.
“I’m addicted to making girls come,” he whispers against my ear, and I almost laugh. Because, like, what a line. It’s a good one, I’ll admit, but it’s a line, nonetheless.
“You’re nothing but a dirty heathen,” I murmur, my own voice thick with carnal poison. If Sin is an incubus then I’m a succubus, and we’re just two demons who were always meant to fuck. I should’ve just screwed him against the tree at my sisters’ funeral. Because he’s right. I do want him. And he’s also right that Grey never could’ve gotten me off this way. He isn’t gritty and dark and cloaked in leather and ready to brawl. He doesn’t capture chrome stallions between his strong thighs. He doesn’t know me the way these men do, with an intimate knowledge of my life and my history and my family. I need and want all of those things. Desperately.
“Maybe. But it’s true. I like to make girls come, and then I like to shove my cock inside of them while their muscles are clamping and pulsing and squeezing. I love forcing my way in through their pleasure and taking some for myself.”
His words are what do me in, making me shudder and gasp as my body releases all of that coiled tension like a whip, striking me in my core and making me collapse forward. Sin lets me fall toward the bed, removing his hand while I’m still in the process of coming, and yanking my pants over the round curve of my ass.
Just as he promised—or threatened, I’m not sure—he’s shoving his cock into me while my inner muscles pulse fruitlessly against themselves. It almost makes me sob when he shoves inside of me, but only in relief. Because I needed that. I need something to clamp down on, something to milk.
I imagine as Sin begins to fuck me that he’s the one who got me pregnant.
It feels right somehow. He’s the youngest, right? He must have the best seed.
You’re such a dirty pervert, Gidge, I tell myself, but I also don’t give a shit.
In this moment, I can’t decide if I’m in heaven or hell, and that’s exactly the way I like it.
Dirty, messy, dark. I need that. I crave it. Because I’m as fucked up as anyone else on this goddamn compound.
Sin takes hold of my hips and pounds into me, rutting against my ass with reckless abandon. I’d worry about him—he nearly bled to death—but my mind is too far gone, and his body inside of mine feels so fucking good that I can’t breathe.
I remember briefly that he did this very same thing to me on the couch that day, when the guys took turns, one after the other. I loved that, too. I want to do it again. I want to see what happens if I take all four of them at the same time, claim all four of their cocks as my property.
I wish they could all wear leather jackets with my name on the back.
Oh, I’d love that …
I’m a possessive alpha bitch, what can I say?
Sin slides his hand underneath me, searching for the aching hardness of my clit. He finds what he’s looking for with a desperate, ragged groan, squeezing and pinching me in such a way that it’s like he’s jacking me off, like I’m a dude and he’s pulling my foreskin back. Over and over and over again, he pulls on the hooded folds around my clit, never slowing or stopping the pace of his body.
“Come for me, Gidge,” he breathes, and I realize as he does that he’s not just asking, he’s demanding. Colton is a bit of a wildcard; I wasn’t expecting this. “I want to feel you drench my balls with your heat. Soak me and tell me that you’re married and that this is wrong.”
I can’t even fucking breathe with the way he’s talking. He’s tearing me apart with every word, and I realize that I’m just as much his venom as he is mine; we’re poisoning each other as we fuck, and we both love it. We crave it. We’d never be happy without this sort of pain in our lives. Never.
“I belong to someone else,” I tell him, my breath a huffing, panting mess. “I’m married to someone else; I gave him my heart.” It’s all true, what I’m saying, but what I don’t need to say, what we both know, is that I gave it to Sin, too. I decided unequivocally the day I woke up in my grandmother’s old bedroom—Sin’s bedroom, I guess—that I was going to keep all four of these men. In exchange, I have to give up something. So, the endless darkness of my heart spreads out like a pair of leathery, black wings, blotting out the sun, inviting them into the shadows of my soul.
“Now,” Sin grinds out, bracing himself with his left hand while he jacks me off with his right, “tell me what it’s like to be married to someone else and carrying my baby. I don’t care if it’s true. Just tell me.”
“It’s wrong,” I murmur, and Sin moans, thrusting harder, faster, deeper than I even imagined possible. How is he not passed the fuck out right now? I decide to come first, worry about that later. “It’s so wrong.”
“It’s wrong that I got you pregnant in that dirty basement with your wrists strapped together behind your back, isn’t it?” he growls, and that’s it. I’m coming again. He’s reaming me with his cock, and I’m constricting around him with these almost violent contractions.
“Fuck.” The way he moans the word, like he’s coming apart inside of me, that kills me. I go completely boneless as he releases my clit in an effort to hold himself up, his hips slamming into me as he fills me up, emptying his balls into my body before he sags against me. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Sin pulls o
ut of me and then barely manages to drag the pair of us onto the bed before he collapses into the pillows. When I close my eyes, I can smell the musty scent of sweat and sex mixed with that particular spice and citrus scent of his. It’s like a drug; I inhale it, my eyes closed as I press my cheek to Sin’s chest, listening to the violent thumping of his heart.
He wraps me up in his arms and keeps me close as he struggles to catch his breath. I give him as much time as he needs, pushing his shirt up and stroking a finger across his lower abs. Lazy, drifting motions that slow and then still as I start to fall asleep.
I’m not sure how long we lay there together, but time ceases to have meaning. In here, together like this, it doesn’t matter. I’m alive because of moments like this, these soft, in-between lulls that reek of familiarly and comfort. This is what’s saved my eternal soul.
Sin clears his throat, exhales, and then swallows several times before he manages to get himself together enough to talk.
“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know,” he breathes, sighing softly. His breath stirs my hair and the fingers of my left hand curl into his sweat-soaked shirt. I want it off. I want his bare chest against my face, but I’m too tired to move right now. Instead, I stay where I am, listening to his heartbeat and letting the rhythmic quality of it soothe my frazzled nerves.
I think for a moment before answering.
“I never slept with Ryan,” I tell him, and I don’t have to explain who that is or remind him of that conversation. He knows. He knows because it’s been bothering the shit out of him the way it bothers me when I remember that time I caught him screwing a groupie on the hood of Gaz’s sportscar.
Gaz.
I make myself think about anything else besides my dead brother.
“You never slept with Ryan?” he clarifies, and then he laughs, this throaty male chuckle that makes me squirm a bit. “How many guys have you slept with?”
I Will Revel in Glory Page 17
