by Ella Miles
But Zeke’s heated threat almost makes me want to run, just so he will chase me. Just so he can punish me.
I don’t run, though. Instead, I let the handsome man I found the second I walked into the bar order me a shot of tequila. We both take the shot. Then I stroke the stranger’s strong forearm, flash him a bright smile, and wink before sauntering off.
I felt Zeke’s gaze on me the entire time, but if he thinks flirting with a stranger at the bar is the sin I plan on committing against him tonight, he’s in for a surprise.
I strut across the room to the dance floor, making eye contact with a man dancing seductively with a woman.
My turn—my eyes and body say.
The man’s gaze finds me immediately. What can I say, I know how to attract men to me like a moth to a flame. I will burn every single man who thinks he has a claim to me.
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip and bat my eyelashes at him, then I wait. He will ditch his date for me.
And right on cue, he does. The woman yells and scowls at the man, but he isn’t listening anymore. I have him thoroughly under my spell.
“Dance with me,” he says.
I crook my finger under his chin. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
I don’t introduce myself or ask for his name. This isn’t serious. This is about sex, even if we never get to the physical act. We will dance, and it will be as close to sex as you can get with your clothes still on.
I grab his neck, he grabs my hips, and then we are moving, grinding on each other through the thick crowd of people. We only need a second to learn each other’s style. And then we are effortlessly moving across the floor—our bodies dancing on top of each other. I push; he pulls. The sexual tension between us is palpable. If I had control over my life right now, we’d end up in the closest hotel room.
Instead, this is all I get.
I give the man everything I have while dancing with him. I don’t search to see if Zeke can see me. If he’s smart, he will pull out his phone and get buried in it, instead of watching me.
I know Zeke wants me, but for some reason, he isn’t going to touch me until he decides if he wants me more than he wants to sell me to Julian. I’m about to make that decision so much harder for him.
Suddenly, I feel like I have more eyes on me. The room has circled around me, and I know that Zeke is watching.
Good. I’m about to murder his heart.
The dance ends, and I pull the hot man I’m using flush to my body. Our mouths pant over each other, but I don’t kiss him. And I don’t let him kiss me.
The crowd claps and hollers, cheering us on—wanting another dance.
But I have a better idea to give them a full show.
While my dance partner inches closer to grabbing my ass, I look over his shoulders and find the DJ behind him.
I crook my finger at him, and he runs toward me.
“Can I use the mic, and can you play ‘Truth Hurts’ by Lizzo?” I ask.
“You can have whatever you want,” he says with a wink.
I look back to my dance partner. “Can you sing?”
He chuckles. “They don’t care if I sing. But I can show you off.”
“Good enough.”
The DJ returns with the microphone, and the song I requested starts.
My hot dance partner spins me around, and I start singing with him dancing around me.
As I sing, the room quiets. I’ve always been a good singer. I’ve sung numerous times in the shower or car, but never publicly. But I don’t doubt the power of my voice.
The man holds me in his arms, swinging our hips together as I belt out the song.
My eyes find Zeke’s. He’s sitting at a round table directly across from me. The crowd has parted, and Zeke has the perfect view of me. So I sing for him. I let him know he will never have me. I will never be his. And I can have any man in this room.
I up my game, teasing the man holding me and walking over and touching or rubbing against every other man in the room. But it’s not enough. I want my sin to hurt Zeke.
So I turn to my dance partner, rip off his shirt to the hoop and hollers of every female in the room. And then I kiss down his chest as I sing before rubbing my ass on his hard-on.
The song ends, and I’m covered in sweat and exhilaration. My dance partner leans down to kiss me, but I move at the last second, and his kiss falls to my shoulder. My eyes lock with Zeke.
I could let him kiss me, but I didn’t.
I could let him fuck me, but I won’t.
As long as you behave, this is as far as I will go. I’ll never make you imagine me with another man unless you give me reason to.
“Thank you for the dance,” I say to my partner before strutting over to Zeke.
Zeke watches me carefully and finishes his drink before waving the hot waitress over.
She smiles at him brightly while bending over so he can see down her blouse as she takes his order. But he doesn’t look; his gaze is still on me. And I can see the agitation in his eyes at having to watch me dance all over a shirtless man, and knowing that every man in the room wants me—I can choose any of them.
My sin worked; he’s pissed.
But then Zeke grabs the waitress and dips her over his lap. She laughs hysterically as he whispers something close to her lips. She nods enthusiastically at his words.
And then he leans down and kisses her, with his eyes still locked on mine. He asked if he could kiss her. So he is capable of asking a woman for permission before he takes what he wants. He just won’t do that with me.
I thought my flirting without crossing the line was a good sin. I was wrong—Zeke’s sin is better. He damaged me worse than I injured him, and it isn’t even his turn to sin. I don’t think I can handle what he will do when it is.
16
Zeke
The second my lips touch the waitress’s lips, I know it’s a mistake. I thought the kiss would hurt Siren, pay her back for all the flirting, dancing, and rubbing on that man she did. But the kiss feels wrong in every way.
I asked the waitress if I could kiss her before I did it. I’m not the kind of man who takes something from a woman without asking before. But Siren saw me ask—and she’s pissed. Because she thinks I would never ask before I took from her.
As my lips press against the waitress’s thin, pink lips, I feel awful. This kiss is good, simple, not too wet. When I shove my tongue between her lips, I taste the sweet wine she must be sipping between customers behind the bar. It’s pleasant and awful.
I’m not the kind of man who feels a rush of emotions with a kiss. I’ve never fallen hard for a woman I’ve been intimate with before. Never experienced that head over heels feeling for another woman. And I sure as hell don’t feel that now kissing Samantha—at least that’s what her name tag says. In fact, I feel the opposite. I feel regret, remorse, and stupidity.
I should not have kissed her.
I should not have taunted Siren.
I thought that I would pay her back for hurting me with her sin. But instead, my move backfired, and I ended up damaging myself more.
Siren’s face full of disappointment and anger is like a shock to the heart. I didn’t realize how much I cared about what Siren thought of me until now.
I thought the kiss would make me stop thinking about Siren. I would realize I just needed to get laid to forget about her. But the kiss made my obsession for Siren worse and did nothing to quell my desire for her. It just showed me how a kiss from any other woman isn’t enough.
I want Siren.
I want to kiss her.
I want her in my bed.
I want her writhing underneath me as I thrust into her.
I want her riding my cock on top of me as she digs her nails into my chest.
I want…fuck, I can’t even think it. Because I want so much more than just a good fuck when it comes to Siren.
When Siren committed her sin against me, I thought I was going to lose my mind.
But not out of jealousy like she wanted me to feel. Sure, I wanted to be the one she was dancing all over. I wanted to be the man whose cock she rubbed with her curvy ass. But watching her move, listening to her sing, seeing her confidence as she took control of the entire room—I could search a lifetime and never find a woman like her.
I always knew I’d need a strong woman if I were to ever settle down. My lifestyle requires a woman who can hold her own—a powerful woman who doesn’t put up with any man’s shit.
Siren is that woman.
And I’m torn between setting her free and finding a way to make her mine, for real.
I know she wants my body. She’s made that clear. But she could never love the man beneath the hard exterior. Because unlike her, I commit sins every day. I steal, beat, and murder. I’ll even end up selling women if it comes down to it, because I’m only truly loyal to a small handful.
And she will never get past any of that. I could bring her chocolates and flowers every day of her life. I could court her and take her to fancy dinners, dancing, and movies. None of that would matter. She’s already seen the worse part of my heart. She will never see me as anything other than cruel.
But it doesn’t stop my cock from hardening or my heart from hoping she was brought into my life for something more than just saving me in the ocean.
“I get off in an hour. We could get a room at the hotel down the street,” the waitress says, still sitting in my lap with her hands around my neck.
Shit, I’d completely forgotten about her.
“Sorry, a work thing came up. Thanks for the kiss.” I try to smile and give her my best apologetic beam, but from the hurt look on her face, she thinks I’m the kind of man who will kiss a woman and then dump her when he finds a better-looking woman to take home. And she’s right.
She stands but turns at the last minute, and I already know where she’s headed with her movements. She’s going to slap me.
But she’s not as fast as Siren. She’s not practiced the movement enough. So I grab her wrist before she even winds back to slap me.
She frowns, glaring at me like I’m the devil. If she only knew how true her thoughts were.
I dig into my wallet and pull out a couple of twenties. I hand them to her. “Thank you for the drinks.”
At first, I think she’s going to reject the money. But she grabs it hastily and shoves the wad into her bra before stomping off.
Siren laughs, like what she witnessed was the funniest shit she’s ever seen—me getting told off and almost slapped by a waitress. But I see past her light chuckles. She’s hurt—I hurt her with that kiss. It was my intention, but seeing the pain behind her eyes makes me regret my decision even more.
Finally, she stops laughing and walks over to me. “I thought I was the only one who got to sin tonight.”
“You telling me that kiss hurt you? Because that would mean you are jealous of a waitress. It would mean you want me to kiss you. I know you find me attractive, but I thought you thought more highly of yourself.” I’m such an asshole.
This time Siren doesn’t take my bait. She just walks away.
We walk toward my truck in silence.
“Any chance you want to let me go?” she asks, her voice heavy. She doesn’t look up at me. She just stops next to the passenger door like she’s ready to accept her fate, but she’d rather run.
“Never,” I answer honestly. I never want to let her go.
She sucks in a deep breath, and I swear I see tears in her eyes. Siren doesn’t strike me as the type that cries often. So the fact that this moment is when the tears start surprises me.
Finally, she nods and then climbs into the passenger side. Without fighting me about who is driving.
I take my time climbing into the driver’s side, hoping she will have stopped sobbing by the time I climb in.
She hasn’t—her crying has gotten worse. Tears are pouring out of her eyes, and her voice is wailing in pain.
What’s happening?
I don’t understand why she’s crying so much or in so much pain. But the fact that I can’t ask—the fact that I can’t touch her, can’t console her, hurts me worse than watching her dance with that man. It hurts worse than watching her kiss another man. It hurts worse than knowing she’s fucked another man.
It hurts, seeing her in this much anguish. It hurts so much that I almost want to let her go. This is the worst sin she could ever commit, hurting and not letting me do a damn thing to help her. This sin destroys me. This sin will be my undoing.
17
Siren
My tears break him.
I didn’t expect them to. I’ve just had so much emotion floating through my body I needed a release. I promised myself I would stop as soon as Zeke got into the truck.
But as soon as I saw his face, felt his nervous energy, and saw him fidgeting with the steering wheel and keys like it was his first time driving, I knew the tears just became my sin, not the flirting and dancing.
For a second, I thought I should have kissed my dance partner, because that jealousy would have hurt Zeke the most. Turns out, jealousy barely registers on his radar.
But seeing me in pain, that hurts him.
Huh.
Is that why he hasn’t raped me despite wanting to? He’s torn between what he wants and not being able to handle seeing me in pain?
I keep crying, and the pain deepens on his face—so I cry harder, seeing how far I can take it before he completely shatters. I need to know his limits. It’s the only way to destroy him.
My sobbing turns to heartbreaking wails, the kind women use only after the worst happens to them—the loss of a spouse or child. But my cries aren’t acting. I’m not lying with my howls. Everything I’m letting out is exactly how I feel.
I’m trapped, and I’ve lost everything and everyone important to me. Even if Zeke lets me go, I still won’t get back what I lost. I’ll never be whole again.
Suddenly, the truck stops. My eyes are red with tears blanketing my vision, so I can’t tell if we are back at Zeke’s house or if he stopped somewhere else.
He unbuckles and climbs out. I reach over for my seatbelt and fidget with it until I finally get it to unlatch.
Zeke opens the door before I’m finished. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t tell me to stop. He doesn’t comfort me with his body, even though his presence does strange things to mine—excites and soothes.
I move to climb out, but his body blocks me.
“What?” I ask, as the tears continue to fall.
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, I’m lifted up in the air and flipped over his shoulder until my face is staring right at his glorious ass.
My sobs are stifled as it’s hard enough to breathe flipped over like this, let alone cry.
Zeke carries me like a caveman away from the truck. I try to lift my head up to see where we are, but all I can see is his ass and then eventually the sand below his feet. Then I hear the crashing of waves.
Why are we on the beach?
The waves get closer, and I realize what Zeke is planning on doing.
I fist my hands and start pummeling his back with my fists.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” I say firmly between hiccuping sobs.
He doesn’t speak or stop walking.
I watch the bottom half of his jeans get swallowed up by the waves. And then I’m being flung onto my back into the cool water.
I stay under the water longer than I need to. I love the water. I used to want to be a mermaid when I grew up. It took until I was a teenager to realize mermaids weren’t real. I couldn’t spend my life swimming in the water, rescuing dolphins, and saving sea creatures. I had to grow up and get a real job.
But sometimes, when I’m all alone in the water, I pretend my life is different. I pretend I’m just a mermaid, living her best life as a magical creature that won’t let anyone hurt her.
I close my eyes as I come up out of the water. My heels somehow get washed from
my feet, so my bare toes touch the smooth sand that feels like home. My hair covers my face, so I flip it back as I gasp in a deep breath, and the tears stop.
Despite hating that Zeke just threw me in the water, it did the trick. The water is where I feel alive and safe. There is no way I could cry right now, even if I wanted to.
I find Zeke’s gaze on me.
“Enough,” he says.
That one word vibrates through my body. And I feel it in all the ways he meant it—as a command and a question. He wants me to stop hurting, yet he’s also asking if I’ve had enough. If I’m over whatever was hurting me because he can’t handle my pain anymore.
And he can’t be gentle with how he helps me get over my pain. Surprisingly, I don’t want him to be. I want someone who knows when I’m hurting and puts an end to it abruptly.
I’ve never had a man care enough about me to do something about my pain, even in this unconventional way.
Zeke is now standing waist-deep in the water a foot from me. The waves wash up again, striking me in the back and Zeke in the chest, but it doesn’t stop the intense connection we share. We aren’t touching, yet in the water, I feel him. All of him. I feel his pain. It’s a pain I don’t understand. He’s a powerful man with more money than sense. What could he be possibly be hurting about?
But it’s there—his heart is bleeding as badly as mine is.
We stand there for another minute. Both giving the ocean everything we can never give to each other. Our pain. Our secrets. Our truths.
And when everything has been spilled, I nod.
Zeke turns with the nod and starts walking to the truck. He doesn’t wait for me to follow. I could run. I could swim into the ocean, and he would never catch me. But I don’t because now I’m curious about the man. The only man who has ever shown that he cares about my pain.
