I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  When the metal portion of the song starts and the singer begins to scream the lyrics, Sin pauses, nuzzling his face between my neck and chin.

  “I really would,” he promises me, “go through hell to have you. I just never wanted you to do the same for me.”

  “Too late,” I choke out, and then he’s drawing back and tucking a finger under my chin, turning my face so that he can kiss me. As soon as he does, I see that he was never really kissing me before. This is the full and endless power of his true kiss, his true intent.

  Sin’s hand skims down my body, resting on the curve of my waist as he explores my mouth. His tongue parts my lips, demanding entrance, sweeping an aching arch across my own. I let him do it, drawing back slightly to flick my own tongue over the scar on his lip. I wonder when and where he got it? When those men beat him up? In the line of duty with Death by Daybreak?

  “Thanks for the reminder,” he whispers huskily, putting his hand on my chest and pushing me onto my back. I close my eyes, swallowing hard against the surge of anticipatory nerves. Sin moves away from me, settling himself at the foot of the bed.

  Speaking of feet … he takes one of mine in his hand and traces his fingers up toward my leg. Toward my scars. I immediately try to jerk away, but he tightens his grip, fingers digging into my calf.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” he asks, a hint of bemusement in his voice. “I wanted to know what these scars would taste like if I traced them with my tongue.”

  “Colton,” I warn, and when that doesn’t stop him, I add, “Ryan.”

  He grits his teeth at me; I can see them shining in the darkness.

  “Do you really want this Ryan guy to end up on a DBD hitlist?” he asks me, and then he’s pressing a kiss against the side of my calf. Sin’s tongue darts out, tasting my skin and making me squirm. His attention to detail, that special talent of his that won him the role of road captain, comes into play here. He finds every groove that I’m self-conscious of, every mark in my skin that screams betrayal.

  He smoothes over all those rough places with his heat, making his way up my right leg before bringing himself within a breath of my wet cunt. Rather than touch it, than soothe away any of my ache, he retreats back to my right foot, kissing my ankle, my calf, my knee.

  “You always smell so good, Gidge,” he murmurs with his lips on my inner thigh. I’m trembling now. I so desperately want to touch him, but no matter how hard I pull, how much I twist my body, I’m trapped. “Like wild roses and vanilla.” He moves his lips up to my belly, licking the taut muscles as I clench them involuntarily. It’s almost painful, the softness with which he touches me. “And leather. Definitely leather.”

  “No, no, you all smell like leather,” I tell him, and he hooks a smile that I can’t see, but that I can feel against my lower belly. “You, in particular, smell like cinnamon and citrus. A little bit of tobacco, a hint of cloves.” Sin chuckles, and the sound just drives right into me like a hard fuck.

  Speaking of …

  “Are you going to stop talking about how I smell and fuck me?” I ask, and this time, he sits up and throws his head back with a laugh.

  “Fuck you?” he asks, shaking his head at me. “God, no. I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do for years.”

  “Which is?” I breathe as he turns toward the edge of the bed and kicks off his boots, peels off his socks, shoves his joggers and boxers down. He glances back at me, cocky in the firelight, so smug and full of himself.

  Damn it.

  I knew I shouldn’t have admitted to loving him; he’s going to be so much worse now. They all will be. Grainger, in particular.

  “I’m going to make love to you,” Sin declares, and I groan. I have massive intimacy issues, like enough to choke a giraffe.

  “No.” I shake my head, but he ignores me, adjusting himself so that he’s sitting between my legs.

  “Yes. Why do you think I chained you up? I knew you wouldn’t like this.”

  “Colton Young,” I warn, wondering if he has a middle name. “Don’t make me call you Ryan again.”

  “I will gag you,” he warns me, sliding his palm over my breast and making my breath hiss out in a rush as he skims across my nipple. “Don’t push me.”

  He leans down to kiss me, and I bite him. Doesn’t work though. He just bites me back, and then we’re licking and sucking hungrily at one another’s mouths while his hand kneads my tit. His body thrusts almost involuntarily against mine, but he doesn’t enter me. Sin seems content to tease me with the hardness of his pelvis, his cock slipping in between my outer folds and bumping my clit.

  “Why are you so goddamn stubborn?” he whispers as I taste the faintest saltiness of blood on my lips. Not sure if it’s his or mine. Doesn’t matter.

  “Would you like me if I were pliant and meek?” I query, but the words are too breathless to sound badass.

  “I’d like you pliant and meek right now,” he offers up, dropping his mouth to my breast and covering my nipple. His tongue swirls around it, drawing the fire of his touch into me, and then sending it straight down to my core. It pools there, all of that want and heat. It sits heavily between my thighs as he traces his fingertips down my rib cage on either side.

  Sin continues to move his lips down, shoving my legs apart when I try to resist. His tongue is hot and wild as it captures the hardened bud at the apex of my sex. He sucks gently, alternating the sensation with more flicks of his tongue, making me strain against the stupid goddamn handcuffs.

  “I love it when you come,” he breathes, licking down the length of my folds to my opening. “I love the feel of forcing myself inside when you’re in the middle of it.”

  My natural instinct is to protest, but I can’t talk, not with the way his mouth is moving over me, tasting me. His touches are so gentle until … they’re not. Sin bites me hard on my inner thigh and shoves two fingers into me at the same time.

  The sudden shift in rhythm and sensation makes me cry out, bucking against him as another climax threatens. It’s impossible to resist when he takes my tender clit between his teeth and nibbles it. My pelvis lifts up, slamming into his face as I come hard, pulling my wrists against the handcuffs so desperately that they chafe, they hurt.

  And I like it. I like the pain on my wrists juxtaposed against the softness of Sin’s mouth.

  As promised, he slides up along the length of my body, reaching between us to guide himself to my core. With my muscles still fluttering and squeezing, he slips inside. Unlike last time, he goes much slower, inch by inch, so that by the time he’s fully settled inside of me, I can remember how to breathe again.

  “Look at me, Gidge,” Sin commands, taking my face between his hands. He’s lucky that I’m tied down or else I’d push him away. Since I can’t do that, I close my eyes. “Gidge.”

  “Colton.”

  He stays right where he is, still and warm and heavy. I wrap my legs around him and rock my hips, but he reaches down with his left hand and squeezes my pelvic bone, pushing me into the mattress.

  “No. Look at me. I’m not moving until you do.”

  I force my eyes open so that I can glare at him. He’s hard to see in this light, but unfortunately, there’s just enough of a fire going that his eyes practically glow. He’s staring at me, into me, delving down into my soul.

  “Fuck,” Sin murmurs, cupping my face as I cringe away from him. “You’re really willing to be mine, aren’t you?”

  “You’re really willing to push me to the edge,” I grind out. If he’d wanted to tie me up, spank me, gag me, get rough, I could handle that. This? What the hell is this? I almost wish I’d asked for a safety word. “You better not have used these handcuffs with other girls.”

  The jibe doesn’t work. He just smirks at me, the expression limned in firelight.

  “Those are work-related handcuffs, so no. I haven’t. Nice try though.”

  Sin covers my mouth with his, kissing me until I’m boneless, breathless, broken. He makes me feel
broken with his touch, his love, because it isn’t something I ever really believed I could have.

  “Look at me,” he repeats, and this time, I do.

  I look at him as he starts to move inside of me, deep and slow, staring into my eyes, marking this moment in time. Just like I wanted. I could not forget this if I tried.

  Colton’s hands are worshipful, his mouth a blessing, but his cock is a sin. I love that, the length and width of it stretching me, bringing me dirty pleasure even as he nuzzles against me, licks my throat, tastes my mouth.

  He had said his shift was over, that Beast would be here soon.

  If so, the man must be perceptive as hell because he doesn’t interrupt us.

  Instead, I spend nearly a full hour handcuffed and grinding against Sin before he releases me. The handcuffs come off of one wrist but remain dangling off the other as I lock my arms around his neck, holding him close to me as he works us both toward another climax.

  Three in one night.

  Holy shit. He’s the king of this.

  He comes inside of me with a deep, satisfied groan, something so strong, so primal, that it gives me chills. He’s giving himself to me with this orgasm, committing to me, sacrificing his own wants—to have a girl all of his own—to give me what I need.

  His hand comes between us, stroking my clit, dragging blissful agony from me before I finally lose it again, third orgasm in a row. When I come, I come hard, shaking and clawing at him, pulling him as close to me as I can get, until we’re both panting and sweating all over each other.

  Also, best part: he doesn’t leave.

  At least not right away. Sin curls up beside me, using his body as a shield for mine as he strokes my hair back with strong fingers. I’m not asleep though. I can’t fall asleep, not after all that.

  So I just cuddle—cuddle? ew—closer to him until eventually, there’s a soft knock on the door.

  “Shit.” Sin sits up looking disoriented, casting a glance down at me before he collects his joggers and gun, slipping the items back on before answering the door. “Beast.”

  The two men stare at each other for a moment, my future husband’s eyes sliding back to my nakedness. I’m unashamed, lying there with the blankets tangled around my ankles, my head pillowed on my hands.

  “Cat is starting to wonder what the hell happened to you,” Beast says, and my newly committed lover cringes.

  “Fuck, okay. I gave her the phone, by the way.” Sin glances back at me. “You can thank me and Grainger for convincing these other assholes to go along with it.”

  He moves back over to the bed, giving me a lingering kiss that tingles and makes me shiver.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises, and then he’s snatching up his shirt and boots and heading for the door.

  “You better,” I grumble. “Because the next pact you idiots make about me behind my back leads solely to castration.”

  The door closes behind him, but I swear, I can hear him laughing as he heads down the stairs.

  Then … it’s just me and Beast.

  “Had to convince you to give me a phone, huh?” I ask, looking up at him as he moves over to the bed and covers me with the blankets. Like a gentleman. Like an asshole. Like some douche who wants to wait for his wedding night.

  An excited thrill traces over my well-loved skin.

  “You have a tendency to get yourself into trouble,” is all he says, looking like a Norse god or something in the flickering light.

  Beast closes and locks the doors that lead to the balcony before taking his spot in the chair in the corner. For all that’s happened tonight, I know I’m going to be plagued with insomnia. Having a gorgeous, blond, tattooed, pierced, badass sitting close to me, but refusing to give it up, only makes things harder.

  I take the phone from my pants pocket on the floor and crawl under the blankets to power it on.

  The guys have programmed their numbers in already.

  There’s one number, however, that isn’t there. One that I want. One that I programmed into my brain since I didn’t have a phone when I needed it.

  Grey’s number.

  Provided he still has his phone or was able to get a new one with the same number. We did that for each other, memorized all the important things. Emails, social media handles, phone numbers. While none of those things are permanent, it gives us several ways to contact one another.

  I’m struggling. Not just with the club stuff. With everything.

  I send that, and then I hold my breath, waiting. Sometimes, I miss lying in that bed beside Grey and talking to him. My guys, they’re not exactly extending the same invitation. There’s still a barrier between us that I want to break down so desperately I can taste it. What happened with Sin tonight was a good start at least.

  Me, too. Me, too, Gidge.

  The response comes much more quickly than I expect, and I feel my eyes prick with tears.

  We can do this for Queenie and Kian, can’t we? I ask him, my hands shaking as I type out the words to Grey with my thumbs. Make some sort of tentative peace?

  This time, he takes so damn long to respond that I almost fall asleep. My eyes get heavy, the phone nearly falls from my hands and hits me in the face.

  We can.

  Another long pause before Grey responds again.

  But it’s going to hurt. Are you ready to hurt, Gidge? I’m willing to sacrifice everyone and everything. Except for you. There’s a bit of a break there before he adds, and Reba. Not the sort of friend I ever thought you’d keep, but I like her. A lot.

  Don’t hurt my men, I tell him, sending the messages one sentence at a time. Don’t hurt Reba or my mom. Everyone else is fair game. Everyone.

  Another pause.

  And your brother?

  I bite my lip and think for a minute before responding.

  How involved is he, exactly? What did he want with Reba?

  It’s a non-answer, sure, but Grey is the only one who can fill in the blanks. Even Grainger begrudgingly asked if Grey might be able to help. Also, I really do owe him and Sin big-time for getting me this phone. It’s another weapon in my arsenal, a thread that connects me to Grey, to the world.

  Anything he felt like wanting. Your brother likes to feel appreciated, useful. He doesn’t feel that way in the club, so my father suggested I give him something nice.

  My chest gets tight as I dig my fingers into the side of the phone, struggling to keep my breathing even enough that Beast won’t bother me. If he thinks I’m upset, he’ll come over here, and I’m not sure how nice he’ll be when he sees I’m talking to Grey.

  You’re playing me on a tightrope here, Grey. You’re not leaving much room for error.

  I send that, my blood colored with annoyance.

  There is no room for error, Gidge. None. We’re both playing with fire. Just remember that it was your brother that offered the casino up to us in the first place. Your brother that’s been feeding us information for years. He told us everything we ever wanted to know about you, your sisters, your house.

  I stare at his messages for so long that he actually texts me a question mark in response.

  He told you about my sisters? I clarify, and Grey immediately starts typing again.

  He wanted all three of you dead.

  With agonizing slowness, I type up my final message of the night.

  Goodnight, Grey.

  He responds in kind.

  Goodnight, Gidget.

  I fall asleep with the phone tucked up against my chest, and a thorn of betrayal embedded deep inside my heart.

  The next few days are spent finalizing plans for the wedding. It wasn’t something I ever wanted to do before … and it still isn’t something I’m interested in. Even though I’m getting the biker wedding I pined for in that stuffy Catholic church, many of the traditions are the same.

  It’s not Beast that’s the problem; I just don’t like weddings.

  “You don’t want a dress, Gidget?” Nellie asks, and
I can sense something else behind her quiet, pleading tone. She’s getting ready to throw some of that ‘President’s Wife’ energy out, the energy that she once used to get the club wives to petition the treasurer to build a daycare center on the compound.

  Let me give you the CliffsNotes version: their petition worked.

  “I want a white leather jacket,” I say, and both Reba and Nellie look at me like I’m possessed. “What? You’re lucky I’m even going with white. We all know I’m far from virginal.” Reba sighs at me and puts her hands on her hips while Nellie gives me a sharp look.

  “Those men oughta be ashamed of themselves,” she says, and I flick my eyes Grainger’s way. His back is to us, but I can see him tense up. He’s been the worst of them all. Fingering me in the clubhouse bathroom, screwing me in a church, on a sink, in a church again, on the forest floor, letting me suck his dick in the garden. He knows Nellie’s words apply to him as well as anyone else. “But that has nothing to do with the dress. You’re my only daughter left.”

  There it is, arrow to the heart.

  “You only get married once, Gidge,” Reba says, and I cock a brow at her.

  “There is such a thing called divorce. It’s been around for a while. You ever heard of King Henry the Eighth?”

  “Don’t be contrary for contrary’s sake,” Reba admonishes, slapping my arm. I know before I even start the pretend process of protesting that I’m going to give in. Nellie is right: I’m her only surviving daughter. That, and her son most definitely has an expiration date. Reba, too, is in desperate need of a distraction.

  Every night since she’s been here, she’s woken up to nightmares, found her way into my room, and curled up in bed beside me. Grainger, idiot that he is, seems to be jealous. Beast doesn’t comment either way. Crown just smiles in a patronizing sort of way and does nothing. Sin is the only one who interacts with Reba as a human being.

  I stretch my neck out, rolling my shoulders and trying to shake off the soreness from my training sessions. They’ve been bumped up to thrice a day recently, and I’m goddamn exhausted. I can, however, disarm a full-grown man and take his knife though, so it’s apparently working.