Sin

by Deborah Bladon

  His hand moves lower, skimming over the fabric of my dress until he reaches the sash. “She’s not here.”

  “West,” I manage to whisper his name when he tugs on the sash to open my dress.

  His gaze drops to take in the sight of my black lace panties and bra. “Jesus, Linny. Look at you.”

  I do. I look down and my breath hitches.

  Everything slows when his hand glides a path over my panties before he dips a finger inside. “You’re so fucking wet. I’ve been craving a taste of this for two months straight.”

  “You haven’t,” I counter with a hand on his shoulder. “A man like you doesn’t remember a random one-night stand.”

  His lips are on mine again, this time his kiss is rough and demanding. His eyes bore into me when he pulls back. “I remember everything about that night. Every single fucking detail right down to the mole on your left shoulder.”

  My gaze darts to my shoulder, but my dress covers the mole.

  “I haven’t touched another woman since I was with you.” His lips slide over my chin toward my neck. “I haven’t wanted another woman since you.”

  I close my eyes against the weight of those words.

  He hasn’t been with anyone else. I haven’t been with anyone else.

  He exhales sharply. “Tell me to stop now, angel, or relax and enjoy the ride.”

  “Don’t stop,” I whisper into the still air of his office. “Please, don’t.”

  I look down when he drops to his knees, his breath skimming my stomach before his lips find my thigh. Time slows when he slides my panties to the side to expose me.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His voice is low and rough, filled with raw need. “Every part of you is breathtaking, Linny.”

  I shield my face with my forearm, biting my bottom lip to try and quell the uncontrollable desire to moan.

  I do just that when the tip of his tongue snakes over my folds. “Such a sweet pussy. So sweet.”

  I’ve never been with a man who talked to me during sex. My lovers have always been the selfish and silent type. They’d touch or lick me briefly before taking what they wanted.

  “West, please,” I whimper when he inches back to blow over my core. “I’m so ready.”

  “You’ll come the second I suck on your clit.” He rubs his fingertip over it.

  It spurs me closer to an orgasm. I’m so close to the edge already. “Please.”

  I don’t want to beg. I want to come.

  One of his hands glides over my hip until it cups my ass. “Put your leg over my shoulder.”

  I do without thinking. I don’t care what I look like. All I want is to feel.

  He glances up at me, his dark eyes swimming with desire. “I’ve thought about this for two months. Craved this. I’ve fucking ached for this.”

  I lace my fingers through his soft brown hair and tug him closer to me.

  “I’ll give you everything you want.” He licks the length of my cleft. “And everything you need.”

  My back arches when he licks me over and over, his tongue diving into me before he circles my clit.

  It’s too much. It’s all too intense. Words fall from my lips that I can’t recognize. His name becomes a chant as I buck against his face, riding him shamelessly, my back hitting the door in a pounding rhythm.

  He sucks on my clit, the pressure perfect, the sounds he makes my undoing.

  I moan again, louder this time as I race to the edge.

  He slides a thick finger inside me and hones in on the spot that sends me into a withering frenzy.

  I push against him to stop the pleasure. It’s too much. It’s all so much, but he’s relentless.

  He hums against my tender flesh, sucking, tasting, biting, taking.

  I come so hard that I hold both hands over my mouth to buffer the scream.

  “Again, angel.”

  Two words that take me from one orgasm straight into another with his name falling in a whispered plea from my lips.

  Chapter 30

  Jeremy

  I glide up her body, feathering kisses over her skin. She smells like heaven. The taste of her is intoxicating.

  “Linny,” I whisper her name against her lips. “Open your eyes.”

  She shakes her head softly. “I can’t. I can’t move anything.”

  Pressing my mouth against hers for a kiss, I laugh. “You can. Open them.”

  She does.

  A smile parts her lips. “I came here to talk business.”

  Wrapping my arm around her waist, I chuckle. “You’re not complaining, are you? That was a hell of a lot better than talking about vodka.”

  Her hand finds my cheek. “So much better.”

  I lick my bottom lip to savor the lingering taste of her. “That was incredible. I need to do that again.”

  Her back bows against the door. “I won’t be able to function.”

  I want to fuck her so badly, but I don’t have protection here.

  I gave up carrying condoms in my pocket or wallet after I turned down a handful of women who were willing to hop into bed with me.

  Eventually, I would have shaken my obsession with my Vegas angel, but only in an attempt to satisfy a physical need, not because of any connection beyond that.

  It would have been sex, pure and simple.

  What I just shared with Linny is more; so much more.

  Her hand skims the front of my pants. “Would you let me... I want to…”

  I’ve been hard since she arrived at my office, but the suggestion of her dropping to her knees to blow me is almost too much.

  I groan loudly before I claim her mouth for a soft kiss. “You want to suck me off.”

  It’s not a question or a demand. It’s a desire that she feels and is struggling to express vocally, although her hand is clear in its intention. It’s on my belt buckle.

  “Yes,” she whispers as she leans her forehead against my cheek. “I almost did it in Vegas. I thought about waking you up that way.”

  My hand falls to cover hers on my belt buckle. “Fuck. You should have. I woke up hard and aching for you, but you were gone.”

  She leans back to look up, her eyes catching mine. “I had to catch a flight.”

  I have a dozen responses for that including the obvious one. She could have booked a later flight and stayed in my bed.

  “You’ll make it up to me now.” I reach down to unbuckle my belt, willing myself to calm the fuck down, so I don’t shoot my load all over her face the second her wet lips touch my dick.

  She nods, but then time stops. Every fucking thing stops because of a knock on my office door.

  ***

  Whoever the fuck it is knocks a second time.

  “What?” I call out, a frustrated edge to my tone.

  “Jeremy?”

  The voice is vaguely familiar and annoying as hell. Mitchell. Goddamn Mitchell Bilton is standing on the other side of my closed office door.

  “It’s Mitchell,” he confirms what I already know.

  Judging by the look of terror on Linny’s face she recognizes her asshole of a stepbrother’s voice too.

  I press a finger to her lips to silence her. Clearing my throat I call out, “I’m busy. What do you want?”

  The door handle rattles. The asshole is trying to get in. “Is Linny in there?”

  I kiss her softly, wanting to ease the panic that I see washing over her expression.

  “Her assistant told me she had a meeting with you.” His voice lowers. “I should have been included in that.”

  “I would have asked you to accompany her if I thought that was necessary.” I roll my eyes, luring a smile to Linny’s lips.

  I hear rustling outside the door before he clears his throat. “Alright. I’m here now. Do you want to grab a beer? My treat.”

  Linny’s brows jump.

  “He’s a persistent bastard,” I whisper against her ear.

  She nods, a soft smile touching her mouth.

&n
bsp; “I’m busy, Mitchell.” I slide a hand over her leg, drawing a soft gasp from her. “Go back to your office. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I’ll wait.” His voice drifts farther away. “I’ll sit out here and wait until you’re done. I have some ideas to throw at you.”

  “Oh my god.” Linny’s hands fist the front of my shirt. “He’s going to see me in here. He’ll know what we just did. Is there a back way out of your office?”

  I brush my lips against hers. “I’ll handle it. You’re not crawling out of a window. It would be hell trying to repel thirty-six floors down the side of the building in those heels.”

  Her hand darts to her mouth to silence her laugh.

  “I’ll let him buy me a drink. One shot of vodka.” I make quick work of my belt. “You stay here until the coast is clear.”

  “ I’m sorry ,” she mouths, her chin dipping toward the sizable bulge in my pants.

  I shrug into my suit jacket. “Next time, angel. There will be a next time. Soon.”

  I kiss her one last time before I open my office door just wide enough that I can slip through without the risk of Mitchell catching a glimpse of what’s inside.

  Chapter 31

  Linny

  “Hey Linny, I spent the last few hours with Jeremy Weston.”

  I look up to see Mitchell standing in the open doorway of my office with a smug grin on his face.

  I glance down at the small silver clock that sits on the corner of my desk. It’s one of the few things I inherited from my granddad. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  His gaze drops to his watch. “It’s not even five p.m.”

  “Dad told me that you like to get in your jammies and watch Netflix before dinner.”

  His face reddens. “I did that once when I was sick. He stopped by my place with chicken soup.”

  That sounds like my dad. He’s been my hero all of my life. I’m not surprised that he’d step up to become Mitchell’s too since his own father took off before he was born.

  “What did you and Jeremy talk about this afternoon?” He takes it upon himself to walk into my office so he can plop down in one of the white leather chairs in front of my desk.

  “Make yourself at home,” I say sarcastically.

  My tone is lost on him since his gaze is glued to the screen of his phone. “Dave put me in charge of the Vrite Footwear campaign.”

  I paste a smile on my face even though I’m seething inside. I worked hard to land that account and now it’s in Mitchell’s incompetent hands.

  My silence lures his gaze back up. “It pisses you off, doesn’t it?”

  “What?” I ask casually.

  “That I’m in charge of that account.” He taps the back of his phone case on the edge of my desk. “That I’m up for the promotion. That you’re going to have to answer to me in a few months.”

  I’m mostly pissed off that I’ve worked hard for years, devoting myself to the family business at every turn and it may have all been a waste of time. There’s a strong possibility that I’ll be passed over to lead it.

  Mitchell doesn’t let up. “That I’m the son your dad always wanted.”

  That one stings. He knows it, but I refuse to show it.

  “What are your plans for the Vrite campaign?” I shoot him a look, knowing that he won’t have an answer.

  “What are your plans for the Rizon launch party?” he counters with a sneer. “Jeremy said that you were still working out the small details. You should get a move on, don’t you think?”

  You should go to hell.

  The words play on my tongue until I catch sight of my dad. He’s headed straight toward my office with a wide grin on his face.

  “We got the house,” he announces as he strolls through the doorway. “Your mother and I have our Florida homestead and we can’t wait to move.”

  She’s not my mother, but he is my father.

  I push to my feet and round my desk to hug him.

  It’s inevitable now. There won’t be a reprieve. He’s moving to Florida and one way or another, my life will change forever.

  ***

  I glance down at my phone one last time before I reach for the remote to turn off the television in my bedroom.

  I got home about an hour ago. It was after eleven. I’d spent the evening with my dad. We had dinner and toasted to his upcoming move.

  He did almost all of the talking, exuberance driving his every word.

  I’ve never seen him this happy and each time I snuck a peek at my phone, I half expected to look up to see disappointment on his face.

  In his perfect world, all phones would be turned off during dinner, but I wasn’t playing by that rule tonight.

  West texted me after I left his office this afternoon.

  He promised that if he had the time, he’d call me tonight.

  My phone has been silent all night except for a few text messages from Harmony and an email from Ivy about lunch later in the week.

  Resting my back against my headboard, I slide my laptop onto my lap and flip it open.

  My fingers hover over the keyboard before I type his name into the search bar.

  Jeremy Weston.

  This time I avoid all images and zero in on the Rizon company website.

  His bio is generic. It’s nothing more than some disjointed facts about his education and his familial connection to the company’s founder.

  I go back to the search results and skim them, looking for something more.

  Nothing catches my eye once I realize that the man doesn’t have any social media accounts.

  I move to shut the laptop but stop myself.

  I take a deep breath and with shaking hands, I type in my name.

  Lincoln Walsh.

  I release the breath once I realize that virtually every result on the first page is focused on my grandfather. The second page too and the third.

  I hit the backspace button again and again until the search bar is blank.

  Linny Walsh.

  I stare at my nickname after typing it out.

  “Please don’t be there,” I whisper to myself as I hit the enter button. “Please.”

  My heart hammers as I scan each result.

  My bio page on the Faye & Sons’ website pops up. My social media accounts take up the next four spots.

  There are quotes that clients have made and an old magazine article that features a picture of Clive Parker, the head of Corteck, a software company that hired me to help them launch a series of new apps two years ago, and me.

  I read every result; page after page of generic work-related material is all I find.

  Snapping the cover of my laptop shut, I breathe a sigh of relief. My biggest mistake hasn’t found its way online. I pray that it never does.

  Chapter 32

  Jeremy

  “You’re more creative than you look.”

  A smile plays on my lips as I stare across the table at Linny. “Is that a compliment?”

  She shrugs and finishes the last sip of wine from her glass. “That’s for you to decide.”

  We’ve been sitting at this table in a bistro on the Upper West Side for the past hour. I ordered for us both when I arrived. She dove into the steak salad with gusto, complimenting me on my good taste.

  I told her to eat it all since I plan on using up every ounce of her energy at the hotel around the corner once she agrees to join me there.

  “I’ll take it as intended.” I drink from the glass of ice water the server has already refilled twice for me. “You don’t view me as the creative type, but you’re impressed by my creativity as it relates to my plan for us to fuck.”

  Her brows lift at the last word. “Is that why you called this meeting? So you can tempt me with steak and wine before you strip me naked?”

  I’d agree immediately except that the pale pink sweater dress she has on is the hottest thing I’ve seen her in, save for the tank top and tutu.

  A vision of her in that dress
on her knees with my cock sliding between her lips has been floating through my mind since she walked into the bistro.

  I lean my forearms on the table and drop my voice to a low whisper. “We’re going to spend all afternoon fucking each other at the hotel around the corner.”

  Her gaze drifts to the door of the bistro. “Are you taking me to a hotel instead of your place because you’re worried someone will spot us?”

  That should be the reason, but it’s not.

  I can’t take her to my apartment. Explaining why is a conversation for another time, another day, preferably when whatever is happening between us has a foundation that’s rooted in more than an undeniable attraction and phenomenal sex.

  “We could go to my place, but Mitchell drops by there sometimes to annoy the hell out of me.” She rolls her eyes. “I never invite him over but that hasn’t stopped him from showing up unannounced.”

  “When did your dad marry his mom?”

  My question surprises her. I see it in the slowing of her hand as she lifts the napkin from the table to bring it to her mouth. “It’s been about seven years now.”

  “Were you happy for them?” I ask, searching her face for any sign that this subject is making her uncomfortable. The only thing I see is quiet resignation.

  She nods. “After my parents divorced, I wanted them to be happy. For the first couple of years I wanted them to do that together, but once I realized that would never happen, I was rooting for them both to find love again.”

  It’s a mature approach to a fucked up situation.

  “Did your mom find love again?”

  A soft smile tugs at her lips. “She’s still looking, but she’s having a lot of fun figuring that out.”

  “Tell me about your sister.” I lean back in the chair and cross my arms over my chest. “What’s she like?”

  “Bethy?” Her entire face brightens. “She’s bold and smart. Bethy is blonde, blue-eyed. She’s the spitting image of my mom.”

  I stumbled across a picture of Bethy online when I was searching for anything I could find about Linny. There wasn’t much but an image posted to Linny’s Instagram account four months ago caught my eye.