Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)

by Kim Jones

  Pride swells in my chest, but I quickly push it back down. I couldn’t be that for her. Her expectations were too high for a man like me. I was a murderer, a thief, and a liar. I didn’t just kill, I tortured. I didn’t steal from the rich and give to the poor, I took what I wanted and I kept it for myself. Little white lies were the same as big ones to me. The only people I’d never lied to were my brothers. And I’d never lied to her. But I would, if she ever fucked up and asked the wrong questions.

  “I need something from you, Dirk. I need something that only you can give me.” This time, her eyes meet mine and she is battling with her pride. She wants to ask, but either she’s afraid of rejection, or she doesn’t want to show any more weakness. I can’t be her angel, but I can’t deny her either. It doesn’t matter what she asks, I’ll do it.

  “Anything.” My voice is low and gruff, and can barely be heard over the screaming in my head. I’m fucking up. I shouldn’t do this. But my want is too powerful to listen to rational thought. It overrides my mind, controls my actions, and beats the hell out of my better judgment. I want to give her this. And I will.

  “This goes against everything I believe. My morals, my ethics, and my desire to uphold his will in who he wants me to be. Dirk, I want you to hold me tonight. I just want you to hold me and kiss me and help me forget everything. I know it’s selfish, but is it too much to ask?” Her voice is thick and emotional. I know she’s gonna break down again. I don’t know what she wants to forget. But I’ll make sure she does. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know what control he has over her life. But tonight, she doesn’t want him. She wants me.

  I should be pissed that she called herself selfish. I should be pissed at the one who treated her like he didn’t need to hold her like he needed to breathe. I wouldn’t be that motherfucker. I would be the one who would make her feel special, even if it’s just for tonight. Even though I know I can feel shit inside me that makes me realize that this is bad for me. But, I will make her feel special, because she asked for it and it will make me the selfish one. Because I can’t offer her anything other than tonight, and I will make it so amazing for her that no other man will ever be able to make her feel like I did.

  “It’s not too much to ask,” I tell her and watch as her eyes widen and her nostrils flare slightly. She is fighting to hold back her tears. Relief is on her face and sags her shoulders. That ache is back in my chest and it’s fighting against a feeling of elation that I have because I gave her that relief. I’m going to get to touch her and I waste no time.

  There are two steps between us and I close the distance, never letting my eyes leave hers. Mine are willing her to trust me and hers are telling me she does. I slowly raise my hand and push her hair over her shoulder so that it falls down her back. My hand grazes her neck, and I feel my pulse quicken when her mouth falls open and her eyes close. She is doing something to me.

  “Saylor.” She sighs as I whisper her name. When I trail my finger slowly down her neck and between her tits, the slightest moan escapes her lips and I feel my dick swell in my jeans. When I reach the hem of her shirt, I slide both my hands beneath it and up her rib cage, feeling her hot skin tremble beneath my calloused hands. She is as soft as satin, and I don’t want the fabric of her shirt between us anymore. I move my hands up her sides, forcing her arms to lift, pulling her shirt over her head. When it’s off and her face comes back into view, her eyes are open and full of want. I leave her bra but notice how her nipples have hardened and are pushing against the fabric. I swallow and it’s the first physical sign of weakness I’ve shown. I gauge her reaction, but she hasn’t noticed my fault and if she has, it isn’t registering on her face.

  The small amount of fear in her eyes doesn’t grow when my hands drift to the button on her shorts, so I remove them too. They fall to the floor and she is now standing before me in a pair of white panties and a white bra. She couldn’t be more beautiful or vulnerable, and to keep from feeling like I’m taking advantage of her, I have to remind myself that she asked for this. Maybe not to this extent, but the hungry look she wears says that she doesn’t mind.

  I make her stand there, her body convulsing in light shakes, giving her plenty of time to change her mind while I strip down to my boxers. Her eyes appraise my body and she likes what she sees. I see her fingers flex, wanting to touch me. But I don’t give her time to make a move. I lead her to the bed a few feet away and she climbs in without hesitation and, fuck me, but I take a moment to drink her in. She is about five seven and the sixty-seven inches of woman, half naked and lying in my bed, is enough to please me for the rest of my fucked-up life. She hasn’t touched anything other than my hand, yet she is more pleasurable than any other woman I’ve ever been with.

  I pull the string on the light and wish there was a window in the room. I want to see her in the moonlight. Even if it’s just her silhouette. I hear her breathing accelerate and I know she is nervous. She can’t see me, but the feeling will be more intense because of it. I slide between the covers, keeping my weight on my arms as I lean down into her hair and inhale. Her body is shaking with need, and the fear and excitement and trembling is so intense that I speak to her in hopes of calming her nerves. “I promise to give you what you asked for and nothing else. Trust me.” My whisper of words works and I feel her body relax. I kiss down her neck and across her collarbone before making my way to her mouth. When my lips find hers, she opens to me and I slip my tongue inside and I feel her sink further into the mattress. Fuck she tastes amazing. Like citrus. Just like she smells.

  I keep the kiss slow and deep, trying to calm the urge to ravish her. She moans in my mouth and I have to lift my hips to keep my hard cock from touching her. Reluctantly, I pull away from her mouth and kiss down her neck, paying attention to every place that is bared to me. Her arms, her hands, her stomach, and of course that little crease at her elbow. Her moans are louder and her hands have found my hair. She pulls and it feels so fucking good I’m afraid I don’t have the willpower to stop.

  I don’t go below her stomach because there is no way I can kiss her without diving beneath her panties at the scent of her pussy. The smell of her arousal is mouthwatering and I know she is wet and ready for me. I find her mouth again and kiss her deep. I can’t get enough of her. I feel her hands tracing the muscles of my shoulders and my back. Her nails are short but manage to find their way into my skin. I want her to mark me. I want to remember this night. I want her pleasure to scar me. But my wants are not important. Only hers.

  “Dirk.” At the sound of my name on her lips, the ache in my chest becomes heavier. She is desperate and begging for release.

  “Tell me what you want,” I whisper in her ear, kissing my way back down her neck as my hand rubs from her hip to breast and back down.

  “Please,” she begs, and I know she can’t say it. She is ashamed and embarrassed to say what she really wants, and her words tell me she is not very experienced. My fingers trace across the hem of her panties and I hear her take a deep, staccato breath in anticipation. I slip my hand under the material to find her bare and wet.

  A groan escapes me and it’s my second show of weakness. I find her small clit that throbs between her wet lips, and I rub it softly. She is shaved, her lips just as full as the ones that surround her mouth, and I can’t imagine her feeling any different or any more perfect. A moan rips through her chest and I feel my own swell at her reaction. I shift my weight so I’m on my side and her legs open wide, inviting me in.

  “Baby, you feel so fucking good,” I whisper in her ear, and I’m rewarded with another moan of pleasure. She likes the way I compliment her. She likes that I called her baby. I like that she likes it. Her hands push her bra up, exposing her chest to the darkness, and I’m so fucking jealous of it I growl. My mouth finds her hard nipple easily, and when she says my name, I don’t care if I ever see them. Kissing them is so much better. I want to kiss her pussy. I want to taste her wetness. I’m working hard to not let her come
in hopes that she will ask me, but I know she won’t.

  I release her nipple from my mouth and whisper over it, my breath blowing against it, and although I can’t see, I know it is puckering further in the darkness. “Can I kiss your pussy?” I ask. I’ve never said those words in all my fucking life. I’ve never had to.

  “Please,” she begs me, and I’m hesitant because I know I will never get to do this for the first time again. It will never be the same after I first taste her. I will never get that feeling of satisfaction again. I will chase this high for the rest of my life and nothing will ever compare. But I won’t let it stop me. I can’t. Now my dreams will be filled with her smile, her scent, and her fucking taste.

  I slide between her legs and take her panties off, tossing them to the floor. I don’t want to tease her any longer. I bury my nose in her sweet-scented pussy and inhale deeply. She is divine. When my tongue slides between her lips, her sound is more than a moan. It is a cry of passion that almost makes me lose it. My mouth consumes her pussy—drinking her and savoring her scent and taste. I kiss her with my lips, sliding my tongue over her again and again. I avoid applying too much pressure because I’m being an asshole and want to taste her longer, but she’s not complaining.

  She is writhing under me and crying out my name. I insert the tip of my finger inside her and she tenses, but she relaxes when I don’t push further. Her reaction screams at me. It tells me this sexy goddess, that no other woman can compare to, hasn’t been touched in a long time.

  The thought of no one being inside her for so long has me consumed with a feral need so intense that I almost tell her that she is mine. It makes me fucking crazy and desperate to take her. I circle my tongue around her clit, giving her the pressure she needs to release. She screams and I feel her tighten. I push deeper into her, feeling her walls contract around my finger that is buried deep inside her. I continue to work her with my mouth and finger until she comes down from her orgasm. Then I remove my finger and replace it with my tongue, tasting her release, until she shivers from what I know now is the cold. I kiss my way back up her body, bringing the covers with me and pulling them over us before removing her bra completely. I want to feel her chest against mine, and I want her to be comfortable.

  When I lay beside her, she turns in to me and I feel her arm snake around my waist. And I hold her. Like I’ve done it a million times. My head is swimming with thoughts of what just happened. The taste of her lingers in my mouth and on my chin. I’d just eaten the sweetest pussy of the sweetest girl that I didn’t even know. And the only thing I got in return was the remnants of her release. And it was more than enough.

  “I like when you call me ‘baby,’” Saylor says while we lay next to each other, still trying to catch our breath. I could tell her I like it too, but I’ll show her instead. I’ll call her baby as much as this man of few words can. The silence stretches on until she interrupts it once again.

  “It’s been a while.”

  “I know,” I say in response, trying to smooth her hair out of my face. I give up because I would rather have my arms around her. It just feels good.

  “I had my heart broken when I was a teenager. At sixteen, I thought I was in love. After that, I made a promise to my mother that I wouldn’t give myself to anyone else until I knew they were the right one for me. I always keep my promises.” I think about this a minute and I remember that the information Shady gave me said her mother was deceased. I feel my body tense as I become angry at the thought of her mother leaving her, and the son of a bitch that broke her heart.

  “Now she’s gone. Cancer. She died during treatment.” Saylor’s voice is low and I feel her tears leak onto my chest. I hold her a little tighter, and I don’t know if it is my hold that opens the floodgates or the reminder of her mother, but she starts sobbing again. “Dirk,” she manages.

  “Yeah?” I say through the twisting pain in my chest. It fucking hurts.

  “Will you hold me and tell me everything will be okay?” At her words, I move our bodies so that I am completely entwined with her and my lips are at her ear.

  “Everything will be okay. I’m here.” When I reassure her, she completely loses it, and it scares me. I wonder who will do this for her when I am gone. My body rocks her and the movement surprises me. I’m holding a woman who is crying in my arms and rocking her. I hold her and rock her for what could have been hours until her breathing returns to normal, and she is in a deep sleep, with her arms wrapped tightly around me. And it’s the best fucking feeling I’ve ever had.

  3

  SOMETHING IS TOUCHING me. I feel a hand stroking my two-day beard, a leg entwined with mine, and a soft, warm chest pressed up against my own. I open my eyes to find the light on and Saylor looking at me while her fingers stroke my face. She is more gorgeous in the morning than she is at night.

  “I’ve been laying here waiting for you to open your eyes so I could stare at them.” Her voice is strong, like she has been up for hours, and I wonder how long she has been watching me. I don’t ask her, I just let her stroke my face, and try to ignore how good it feels to have her touching me.

  “Your eyes are beautiful,” she whispers, and I make a point not to blink so I don’t fuck up her joy. “Hazel. It’s such a mysterious color. I think if I studied them long enough, I could find every color of the rainbow in them.” I doubted what she said, but if she thought she could, then I would let her test her theory all day.

  “Are you leaving soon?” Her question reminds me of what I was dreading before I finally fell asleep last night. I know I have to leave and part of me can’t fucking wait to get on my bike so I can process all this shit, but the other part wants to stay right here forever.

  “Yes.” I watch the sadness form in her eyes and that ache in my chest is back, and I have the feeling that it has nothing to do with heartburn.

  “Where are you going?” I couldn’t answer that. I should tell her it’s none of her business, but I won’t.

  “West.” My short answer appeases her and she doesn’t push further. I’m glad she doesn’t ask, but I wonder if her lack of interest is because she doesn’t care to know or if she is scared to push me.

  “I don’t want you to leave.” I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here. With her. But I can’t. This is my life as a Nomad and as much as I like her, I could never mentally handle being in one place for too long. Riding is my therapy and without it I would go to the deepest, darkest depths of hell where everyone is my enemy and life has no meaning.

  I can’t lay here with her any longer. I have to leave. I have to ride. I can’t get soft. Nobody can do my job and have these feelings. I don’t want to think of her when I do the shit I do. She is too precious to be surrounded with the violence and world of shit I face every day.

  “I have to go,” I say, moving over her and grabbing my bag. Once behind the curtain, I let the anger I feel rising consume me. I was stupid. So fucking stupid. I let her too close. I needed her to piss me off so I could hate her. She was a mistake. I never should have touched her, or tasted her, or let her say my fucking name.

  I step in the shower and start scrubbing her scent from my body. I don’t want to smell her. I don’t need a reminder. I know she will still be here when I get out, but I’ll force myself to avoid her. If I can just get away from her I will never come back to Jackson again. I will get Nationals to assign someone else for this part of the country.

  I punch the cinder blocks in front of me, letting the pain in my hand numb the pain in my chest at the thought of forgetting her. I’ll stop before I break any bones, but I want the blood on my knuckles to be a reminder that the hands that touched her were the hands of a killer not worthy of her.

  “Dirk?” Fuck. So much for avoiding her. She just got her first taste of the fucked-up monster that I am. And it will be her last.

  I hang my head in defeat and keep my fist pressed into the concrete, twisting it so the gravel digs deep into my opened wound. I need to hurt.
I deserve it, but I don’t feel anything. I tense when her soft hand touches my back, but she doesn’t let it stop her from running her hands over me. There is soap in them, and I can feel her washing me with the gentleness that a mother uses to bathe a newborn baby.

  She is too good for me. I should pull away, but I can’t. I want her to touch me. Something inside me screams need, but this time it’s me who requires it. Demands it. Must have it to breathe.

  I feel her trying to turn my body toward her, and motherfuck me if I don’t turn to face her. That wild hair sticks in every direction around her head and shoulders and halfway down her back. It makes her body look tiny in comparison. It’s the first time I’ve seen her naked. And I’m not disappointed. Her tits are perfect—small, perky, round, and a few shades lighter than her stomach. Her nipples are a dark pink, hard and begging to be in my mouth. Her stomach is flat, but not toned to perfection. Natural and curvy, just like her tits. Only the top part of her pussy is bared to me and it’s pale in comparison to her thighs.

  “Hey,” she says, her voice apologetic. I look at her face that is flushed red with embarrassment. At what, I don’t know. She avoids my stare and fidgets before muttering, “I’m sorry.” I feel a growl crawl up my throat and I want to roar.

  “You are not fucking sorry,” I snarl. My breathing is heavy and deep and it takes everything inside me not to rip the whole room to shreds. This time I see the fear in her eyes. Good. I never want to hear her say those words again. But, just like everything else about her, those words are now embedded in my head.

  We are trained in the MC never to say we are sorry. We apologize. Sorry emphasizes how bad or stupid something is. She is not stupid. Or bad. Or embarrassing.

  I should tell her I’m poisonous. I should say that I’ll ruin her if she stays around me. But I don’t. Because this is over. “Get dressed.” Those are the only words she needs to hear.