The Fall of Sin

by Bella J

  His liquid gaze dragged down the length of my body as if he was soaking me in. “You look beautiful.” His eyes found mine, and I held my breath as he stalked closer. “Red. You should wear it more often.” He continued toward me, and I was sure my heart was about to break out of my chest.

  I sucked in a breath as he stilled mere inches from me, towering over me like a mountain, carved out of strength and power. Majestic. His familiar scent was subtle, yet strong enough to cause my legs to weaken.

  He reached out and dragged his knuckles down the side of my neck, and I shivered. “And like I’ve said before, I love when you wear your hair up. It suits you.” His voice was smooth, bold, and dripped with seduction as he pronounced every word with clarity, his thick Italian accent hypnotizing me.

  For a moment, as our gazes locked, I was sure he would kiss me. My lips tingled with anticipation, my body ready to be raptured by the beast. The monster. My husband.

  Disappointment flooded me when he tore his touch from my skin. “My beautiful secret, now my beautiful wife.”

  His words reminded me of how we got here, how we ended up in this exact moment. “You sound like a doting husband.”

  “Who says I’m not?”

  I cocked a brow in disbelief. “Too much champagne?”

  His rich yet modest laughter reverberated through my core. “Come, let’s enjoy the night Elena had planned for us.”

  As he turned and stepped to the side, a romantic table set for two was revealed, and I couldn’t help but smile. “It seems like your aunt is trying to create some romance.”

  “That is my aunt Elena. An old romantic at heart.” Saint pulled out a chair like a gentleman, and I sat down. As if my heart wasn’t racing fast enough, he rested both his palms on my naked shoulders, his touch cool and welcoming against the evening heat.

  He leaned down, lips brushing against the curve of my ear. “Red becomes you, Mila. Whether it’s the color of your dress, or the shade of your skin burning from the bite of leather.”

  I sucked in a breath, and he squeezed my shoulders, tantalizing my skin with his touch before pulling away. A few weeks ago, I would have breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled away, but not tonight. Tonight, it felt different. Toxic but addictive. Something I craved even though it would poison me.

  Through the flicker of the candle’s flame, he gave me a knowing look and smiled. “You’re blushing, Mila.”

  “You’re playing games with me.”

  “Who says I’m playing?” He poured some champagne into the flute, and I watched as his expert fingers handled the delicate crystal, bubbles forming little imperfections on the side of the glass. As he placed the flute down on the table, his sapphire eyes found mine, pinning me to the chair. “But if I was playing a game, you should know that I always win.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  The cocky smirk on his face remained, his full lips enticing as ever.

  He relaxed back in his seat. “Have you given some thought on which question you’ll ask me tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t.” I tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “I think I’ll decide what to ask in the moment.”

  “And then you’ll end up wasting another question like you did today.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll risk it.”

  Saint put his hand on the table, tracing a fingertip up and down the silver knife. “If there’s one thing you’ve proven during our time together it’s that you like taking risks…don’t you, Mila?”

  It was a challenge. Provocation. A trap I wanted to fall into. God, this was too crazy. All of this. I still wasn’t sure how I got here, how I went from trapped captive who prayed for escape, to a trapped captive who relished the confines of the prison she’d been locked up in.

  I picked up my glass of champagne. “How about we just get through dinner without any innuendos or raging tempers?”

  “I can’t make any promises. There’s something about an Italian woman losing her temper, letting out all that passion, that makes my dick hard.” My lips parted, and he slanted a cocky brow. “But I’ll try.” He raised his glass, but I refused to play and took a sip without toasting back. The smile that remained on his face was proof that he expected my subtle act of defiance. It also displayed his amusement.

  “Now,” he removed the silver dome from a large tray positioned in the middle of the table, “let’s see what’s on the menu, compliments of my aunt and personal chef.”

  “You can stop doing that.”

  He raised a brow in question. “Doing what?”

  “All your little remarks, hints to the fact that you’re rich and untouchable. I’ve been surrounded by your wealth since the moment you kidnapped me. In fact, I’ve seen nothing but money. The penthouse back in New York. Your private jet. This yacht.” I leaned back and settled my hands in my lap. “The designer clothes your aunt picks for me. I know you’re rich, Saint. I know you’re this powerful businessman, the most eligible bachelor in Italy.”

  “Was,” he chimed in with a grin. “I was the most eligible bachelor in Italy.”

  I scoffed. “You expect me to believe because both our names appear on a marriage certificate that you suddenly shed your bachelor status like the skin of a snake?”

  His smile disappeared, and he placed the silver dome down on the side of the table. I didn’t look at the plate in front of us, not caring what was for dinner. All I cared about was keeping his gaze, and to not let him intimidate me into cowering away.

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything.” His jaw ticked as he glowered at me. “But I do expect you to speak to me with respect. I also expect you to not ruin this beautiful evening my aunt planned for us, no matter what her intentions are.”

  “Like the perfect Russo wife.” I didn’t look away, a mighty stare-off between hunter and prey. But I refused to cower or show fear. I wanted him to look me in the eye and see every ounce of renewed fight I possessed. The difference was this time I wouldn’t use my strength to fight him, but rather fight to keep my head above water. To make sure I didn’t drown in the world where Saint ruled. Even though the dynamic between us had shifted, I still wasn’t sure whether I could trust him to save me should the waves crash over me and take me under. Right now, the only person I trusted to have my best interest at heart was me. Only me.

  I was the one who broke eye contact first and glanced at the platter of food in front of us. It was a gorgeous spread of cheeses, olives, different cured meats, bruschetta, figs, grapes, and a few other items I didn’t know.

  “I have to say, my aunt has good taste. Nothing ends a warm Italian summer day like an antipasto platter and a glass of Dom Pérignon.” He frowned. “But it seems like my aunt forgot that you don’t eat red meat.”

  “Well, these all look so good, I might just try it.”

  “You know, that’s one thing I don’t know about you.” He sat back. “Why don’t you eat red meat?”

  I took a sip of my champagne. “I’m surprised you don’t know that. I was sure you knew everything about me, perhaps my blood type too.”

  “A positive.”

  I lifted a brow. “Don’t look so smug.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Why you don’t eat red meat.”

  Uncomfortable being the topic of conversation, I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat. “Have you ever suffered a hangover so bad you thought you’d die, then after that you get sick to your stomach whenever you think of the alcohol you had that night?”

  Saint didn’t react or respond.

  “That’s how I feel about red meat. I was eleven years old and just moved in with a new foster family. They gave me rotten meat, and I was sick for days.” I eased my fingers around the stem of my glass. “After that, I couldn’t stomach eating red meat again.”

  Silence settled, and Saint merely studied me with his intense stare, as if he could see the memory, reaching to the far corners of my mind and experiencing it for hims
elf. It was unnerving how vulnerable he made me feel simply by staring at me. He didn’t need to say a word or take a breath. All he had to do was look at me.

  I was sure he would push this conversation further, try to dig deeper, but he didn’t. He simply reached out to the platter of food. “Let’s start with this, then. Cured duck breast and goat cheese on a slice of bruschetta.” He shrugged. “We can go slow and work our way up to the finocchiona.”

  I had no idea what finocchiona was, but the way the word rolled over his tongue, slipping past his lips with his already sensual accent, had me biting the inside of my cheek.

  “Finocchiona is pork, in case you were wondering.” His eyes gleamed with amusement, again as if he could read my mind.

  Saint leaned over the table between us and held the bruschetta in his hand, and for a second, I hesitated, our eyes locked on each other. All it took was a moment, and the air between us thickened, my body increasingly aware of his animal magnetism drawing me closer, seducing me with every passing second.

  “Go on,” he urged. “Try it.”

  I eyed him for a moment longer and moved closer, opening my mouth.

  Saint pulled back an inch and narrowed his eyes. “Bite, and I’ll return the favor. But fair warning, when I bite, I draw blood.”

  “Great. So, you’re—”

  “Shut up.” He brought his hand closer again. “Now, taste.”

  The bruschetta touched my lips, and I opened, never taking my eyes off his. I took a small bite, the crunch of toasted bread the only sound between us. The bold taste of cured duck came through strongly, but the tart, earthy taste of the cheese created such a delicate balance it wasn’t overpowering.

  I swallowed, and his gaze explored down my throat. The indigo color of his irises darkened, and I took another bite from the bread he held in his hand. Not because I wanted more food, but because I wanted him to keep on staring at me like he was famished for a taste. A taste of me.

  He sat back and popped the remaining piece of bread into his mouth, drawing all my attention to his lips. It reminded me of what it felt like having them against my skin, his tongue lapping at my heated flesh.

  I clenched my thighs and crossed my legs under the table, the soft fabric of my dress brushing against my now sensitive skin.

  Flushed and ardent, I took the last sip of my champagne. The ice clinked as Saint reached for the bottle, refilling my glass like a gentleman. But I had learned the hard way that Saint wasn’t a gentleman when it came to taking what he wanted.

  He put the bottle of champagne back into the metal ice bucket. “Do you like it?”

  I licked my lips, the taste of alcohol and food still lingering on my tongue. “I’m not sure. It’s rather bold. Strong. Unlike anything I’ve tasted before. I’m not sure it’s for me, though.”

  “An acquired taste, perhaps?”

  “Maybe.” I swallowed.

  “Then you only make your final verdict after you’ve sampled it some more. Who knows, you might come to the realization that you have a palate for unique tastes, rather than the mundane flavors you’re used to.”

  One didn’t need a degree to know we were no longer talking about Italian bread or poultry. The hunger that reflected in his eyes wasn’t for the food laid out for us. And if I was completely honest with myself, I’d admit that the craving that burned within me wasn’t for a dietary need either.

  The air around us was palpable, laden with toxic desire that penetrated my bones. The silence became louder, deafening, my lungs struggling to inhale deep enough. Heat spread from my cheeks, down the back of my neck, and a single drop of perspiration slipped down my shoulder blades. The summer heat merged with the flame of anticipation Saint so expertly lit in my core. There was no need for him to touch me. All he had to do was sit there, stare at me with the kind of hunger so strong, it invoked an appetite that would lead to overindulgence.

  “What are you thinking, Mila?”

  For the first time, I was able to break eye contact. “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “Stop trying to get inside my head.”

  He smirked. “That’s something I’ll never stop doing. Your mind is an interesting place.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s a war raging inside that head of yours, Mila.” He leaned his head to the side, the flicker of the candle flame casting shadows on his face under the night sky. “And I, for one, cannot wait to see who will win. Your mind…or your body.”

  I swallowed hard and reached for the champagne, taking a few sips, then decided I needed the whole damn glass if I wanted to try to ignore the way he affected me. The flames were on the verge of consuming my strength as if it were oxygen, burning brighter, fiercer, and it was only a matter of time before it turned me into nothing but ash. I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know if I wanted to stop it.

  Saint stood, and I watched without blinking as he moved my way, reeking of confidence and certitude. “Temptation on its own is a powerful thing. Paired with the darkness, it’s a force to be reckoned with. Unstoppable.”

  His scent enveloped me the second he stilled next to me and leaned down, bringing his cheek to mine, the stubble of his five o’clock shadow brushing against my skin. I closed my eyes and exhaled, a rush of warm air passing my wet lips.

  “Tell me, Mila. Am I the God who helps you defeat temptation, or the devil who forces you to your knees…right before you succumb?”

  I bit my lip, my body now a raging inferno of sexual impulses that burned brighter with every word he spoke into my ear.

  He dragged a finger over my naked shoulder, leisurely tracing it up the side of my neck, leaving a trail of heated flesh in its wake. A single fingertip traveled down my throat, and I craned my neck backward, unable to stop myself from surrendering.

  “This thing between us, Mila, is stronger than you realize.” His hand settled around my neck, his fingers increasing the pressure on my throat. “It’s been proven so many times, this attraction between us is undeniable. Unstoppable.” He tightened his grip. “And here’s a little secret for you.” His lips touched my earlobe, and shivers rippled down my body. “I might be a powerful man. A man who can lie, manipulate, and kill in order to get what he wants.” His hand slipped from my throat and traveled down my chest, easing inside my dress to gently cup my breast. I sucked in a breath that didn’t reach my lungs. “But when it comes to you, I’m powerless against the lust that consumes me when you look at me with those innocent doe eyes. Incapable of ignoring your plea for release that silently lingers on your lips.” His palm squeezed, and my nipple hardened, the desire that pooled between my legs an intense reminder of how my body kept betraying me over and over again when it came to this man.

  Saint eased his warm lips against my heated skin below my earlobe. “I should hate you for becoming my weakness. And I probably would have if I weren’t so fucking addicted to the euphoria that destroys me every time I fuck you.”

  Unable to move or breathe, I remained frozen, captive to his touch, his words, his mere presence. “Saint—”

  His hand slipped out and eagerly moved down to my hip, causing me to stiffen. Not because I didn’t want him to touch me. Because my body had turned into nothing but sensation, ripples of jaded lust moving through me, like the ocean teasing the sand by merely kissing the shore.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he started, his fingers pulling at the fabric of my dress, slowly revealing my legs as he kept bunching the red material in his fist, “I’ll be generous tonight. I’ll let you decide.” His lips teased along my jaw, and my body was already at the edge, waiting to tip over. “Do you want me to be merciful and allow you to retire to your room without taking you?” The hem of my dress reached my hip, my thigh exposed to the cool summer breeze, and I whimpered as his fingers snaked inside my panties. “Or do you want me to be the monster you and I both know I am, and fuck my pretty, defiant wife?”

  A single finger slipped through my slit, and I hea
rd him inhale sharply when he felt how ready I was for him. God, I was so tired of fighting this. To constantly be at odds with myself, trying to fight the desire that possessed me whenever he was this close. To be able to give in and accept whatever the hell this was between us would be liberating. The fall of sin.

  9

  Mila

  I rolled my head to the side as his lips continued to pepper kisses across my skin, until I launched up, his hand tearing from my panties, and the dress falling down my legs. “This is fucking exhausting.”

  He smirked, like a devil who knew victory was only moments away. “What is?”

  “This. You. Us.” I stepped closer until my chest was flush against his, my neck craned so I could look him in the eye. “I’m tired of fighting this, a battle you and I both know has already been lost.”

  “And what battle is that?” His hands were on my hips, busy winding the fabric up the sides of my thighs.

  “As you said, the battle between my mind and my body. It’s a battle I’ve lost so many times, and it’s getting tiring trying to keep levelheaded around you when the truth is I’ll never win. It’s like bringing a knife to a gunfight.”

  I settled my hands on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat against my palm, and his fingers laced into the sides of my panties, the summer breeze kissing my naked legs.

  “Are you saying you’re willingly succumbing to the demands of your husband?”

  “For now,” I whispered, and he flicked his wrist, my panties slipping down to the ground, pooling around my feet. “But the laws of war can change at any time.” My hands explored down his front, eager fingers working to unbuckle his belt. The sound of his zipper sliced through the moment of silence, and I slid my hand inside his pants, watching as his eyes darkened, his mouth slightly parted as I wrapped my fingers around the girth of his cock. “And when they do, I can’t promise I’ll be this compliant.”

  “Oh, dear, sweet Mila. The only way the rules of war will change is when I say they will. Not you.” Abruptly, Saint crossed his arms around my waist and lifted me off my feet, slowly moving forward while his eyes never left mine. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I weaved my fingers through his hair, arms resting on his shoulders, the heat from his body penetrating mine.