by Kira Graham
Sighing, I make up my mind to leave, too, and turn to the door to do just that, when the thing swings open and someone steps in. I’m about to tell them to get out when I meet Paris’s eyes and watch as he closes the portal and reaches out to lock it.
Gulp.
He’s not sexy, Sinai. He’s a black-hearted troll, I remind myself, trying—and failing—to remember everything that Tee coached me on, including the visual memory of those dick photos that she Photoshopped to look like they had warts. Conjuring up that gruesome image, and refusing to think about the fact that I still even had the dick pics that Paris sent me all those months ago, I try to tell myself that I don’t care about this man. I don’t want him. I just…don’t.
“You’re making a fool of yourself, hanging all over Grange,” Paris says by way of an opening statement, his growled insult hitting home hard enough that I manage to shake off the breathlessness that’s filled me and find my tongue.
I find myself wanting to fidget and check my appearance, that lingering self-consciousness that I’ve been fighting niggling at the edges of my mind. I won’t feel that, though, I remind myself. I am sexy. Enough that a man like Grange wanted to date me. Wanted to!
“Oh, I don’t know. A lot of the women here tonight have been giving me more than the occasional envious glance,” I say lightly, my heart beating so hard that I have to lie and tell myself that it’s anger instead of the slow slide of lust that always fills me when I see Paris. “He’s quite the catch, and he’s good company.”
“He’s not interested in more than sex,” Paris barks, his eyes taking me in with a slight sneer that makes me long for a dress with more fabric.
“That’s not true, and even if it was, so what? What makes you think that you have the right to judge me for anything concerning casual sex?” I ask, my own mouth pulling into a sneer that drops quickly when Paris stalks my way so fast that I’m pinned against the counter before I can so much as move a muscle.
The moment his body touches mine, I feel a languorous heat invade me, tightening my core, my nipples, and my throat in one fell swoop. I burn with shame and anger when he sees the reaction that I can’t hide thanks to my lack of bra beneath the paper-thin silk, and I feel my traitorous cheeks heat up enough that his smirk turns into a sensual smile.
“Is that what you’re after, then, Sinai? Casual sex? Because I can oblige,” he purrs, the taste and smell of his breath washing over my lips so strongly that I have to fight the urge to lick them in order to capture it.
My belly goes tight with the fight that I’m putting up, and I congratulate myself when I manage to bring a hand up to push him away. He doesn’t budge, but only pushes closer, and it’s then that I know that I’m in trouble, because I almost moan out loud when I feel his erection pressing into my stomach, leaving me in no doubt that he’s ready and more than willing to make good on his words.
“You can go fuck yourself!” I hiss back, my voice trembling only a little as I shove him harder and fight my own reaction.
Liquid heat is coiling inside me, and I feel my sex tremble with renewed longing as the memory of our one night together invades my mind. Pleasure. God, I crave that pleasure so badly that I have to stifle a moan when Paris presses so close that I’m bent back over the counter, opening myself up for more contact.
“But I want to fuck you, Sinai,” he rasps, his tongue coming out to wet my bottom lip before he nips it softly and sucks it into his mouth. “I want to touch you and lick you and fill you so full that you’ll come the minute I’m inside you. Remember that, Sin? I woke you after a few minutes of sleep, and you came just from me sliding inside you,” he whispers, the seductive pull of the memory so strong that I shudder against him and clench my sex to stop a tremor of need from breaking through.
This is wrong. I need to get out of here, leave, and take Grange up on his offer. I can’t be here, alone with this asshole, letting him touch me and—oh, God! He kisses me when I don’t answer, and that one lick into my mouth is all he needs to shatter what little defenses I have against him.
Now I kiss him back, shoving at the what ifs and the common sense that screams within me. I need this. I want this, and I will deal with the consequences later, I think, moaning when he spears his tongue into my mouth and sucks at my own before thrusting it back and forcing me to suck on him.
I want more, and I intend to get more, even if it’s the last moment we have. Kissing him back harder, I let Paris dominate me and revel in the way that it feels when he fists my hair and angles my head, kissing me so deeply that he sucks the air from my lungs.
I don’t need to breathe. He is my breath.
With a groan, he pulls away and turns me, pressing my stomach against the counter with a snarl of need that makes my already wet sex clench and spasm around the emptiness that I’ve carried around for so long.
Do something, my inner feminist screams. Take charge—
My eyes roll back when Paris drops down behind me, wrenches my dress up, and pulls my panties down. His mouth is on me split seconds later, and I have to drop down onto my arms and bite into my hand when a scream tries to work its way free of my throat.
Oh. Oh God, he’s devouring me. I feel his tongue sear into me from behind, and hear his own moan when he finds me wet and ready.
“Mine,” he growls, his hot breath filling me where he’s pressed to my open sheath, his tongue licking up as I shudder and dance on my toes, wanting to press closer but unable to when he clamps his large hands around my thighs to hold me still. What he does to me can’t be called lovemaking, but at this moment, I don’t care. It’s revenge. Lust. Domination. But God, it feels so good that I take whatever he’s willing to give and pump back softly, riding his mouth like a stripper would a pole.
“Please.”
It’s all I can manage when I feel his hand slide up over my inner thigh. My eyes almost cross when his finger slips over my slick clit, and now I bite down harder as a small wave of pleasure hits me.
“That’s it. Ride my face. You’re going to be so wet by the time I put my cock inside you, you’ll drench me,” Paris croons.
“Please.”
Don’t beg. Don’t be that pathetic, I remind myself, the thought fleeing when I feel myself tense and then shatter, exploding so hard that I open my mouth to scream.
Paris is there, though, shoving himself to his feet and clamping a hand over my mouth as he thrusts into me, pressing me back against his chest with a growl. Our eyes meet in the mirror, hold, and communicate as he starts to thrust into my sex, the drag of his naked shaft within me adding to the almost mind-bending pleasure that is filling me.
His eyes scream lust, mine beg for love, and we battle as he takes me like a madman. I want it to last forever and try to hold off my orgasm, but soon, too soon, I feel that pull, that heavy coil inside my belly, and I watch with heavy eyes as I let myself go and take in his hard-eyed rapture when he releases inside me.
He doesn’t make a peep as he pulls me back into his last thrust and comes inside me, his eyes still locked onto mine as we share this fleeting pleasure. When it’s over, the last shuddering spasm finally releasing him, Paris pulls out of me and turns me, kissing me so tenderly that I feel tears fill my eyes before I can blink them away.
“You’re mine. Remember that,” he rasps, even as he straightens his clothes and kneels down to pull up my panties, the silky fabric soaking up our spent releases when he pats them into place and smoothes down my dress. “I’m inside you, Sinai. You’re dirty with me. Think about that when you’re smiling at another man.”
“But you don’t want me,” I whisper, the words hurting as I force them out and meet his eyes. “You don’t want all of me.”
“I don’t know what I want,” Paris sighs tiredly, a flash of remorse flickering in his eyes before he ruthlessly squashes it and shakes his head, his hands swiping through his hair. “But I know that I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”
And that is the problem
, I think for the hundredth time, as I swallow around the lump in my throat. He doesn’t know, while I…do. I know that I love him. I want him. I’d crawl over broken glass for him. But at what cost to myself? I’m already bleeding from so many places that it’s hard to know which wound will kill me most quickly, while he isn’t so much as scratched. This is why I’m moving on. Why I made that choice despite the pain I felt just thinking of walking away from him. He isn’t good for me, because while he says that he doesn’t know what he wants, what he doesn’t say is that he doesn’t want to want me.
For that reason, I have to be strong and say it like it is. Even if it hurts.
“Thanks for the sex. Now get the hell out of my life. And stay out.”
Chapter Seventeen
Paris
My cock is still hard and pounding for more as I straighten my jacket and take a deep breath to settle the fire that’s burning inside me. At those four words and Sin’s mocking once-over, I felt something inside me spark to life and accept the challenge that she threw at me before slipping out of the bathroom with a sway of her sexy hips.
Game on, I think, a grin flicking across my lips, while inside, I feel my body gear up for a battle unlike any that I think I’ve ever faced before. I relish the sensation and love the energy that flows through me as I lean back and try to catch my breath.
Tonight started off as a test of sorts. Me pitted against Sin, my mind made up that I was going to prove unequivocally that I no longer want her, and yet here I stand, after the best sex that I have ever had in my life, plotting how I’ll do it again, and again, until I either purge myself of this lust I feel for her, or…
I don’t know what the other option is, but I shake off the sense of foreboding I feel, and grin as I open the bathroom door, saunter out, and salute Heath, who is still standing guard in an alcove a few feet away.
“She looked pissed when she walked out here,” he muses, his smile filled with amusement when I shrug and give him a smirk.
“She’s likely ready to kill me,” I admit, wondering why the thought of a renewal of her attacks makes my cock as hard as hell.
“‘Likely’ is an understatement. Tell me, Hart, what is it with you and your brothers riling the Sweet girls up enough that they want to kill you all? Where I come from, you’re supposed to woo a woman, not get her so mad that she’ll be sending you bombs in the mail,” he laughs, his chuckles joining my own when we reach the bottom of the stairs, where Nate is leaning against the wall, his eyes narrowed at us both.
When Heath came to me a week ago and offered to help me with Sin, I was skeptical and unsure. It had been weeks since I’d been anywhere near the woman, and at that point, I’d almost convinced myself that staying away from her and jerking off every night was better than rekindling something that I didn’t want rekindled. It took everything I had to push her away the morning after we had sex, and it was nearly impossible for me to walk out of that bedroom when she was on full display, her eyes soft and showing me things that I’d wanted to see so badly that I felt myself sway for a second.
But I couldn’t, not after she made that declaration, and not when I’m on the brink of tipping over into a storm that I don’t know that I’ll survive. I don’t know what it is that I want from Sinai Sweet, but one thing that I do know is that seeing some other man put his hands on her was enough to boil my blood and tell me that we’re not done. Not by a long shot.
“The woman is driving me crazy,” I admit, my spine going stiff when I turn towards the ballroom-sized room and see Chantel sashaying my way, a seductive smile on her face.
She’s gorgeous by any man’s standards, and if I were even a little interested in anyone but Sin, I’d have slept with her weeks ago, when she started putting out signs that she’s amenable to a casual relationship with me. Women like her are a dime a dozen, though, and while I feel no judgment toward her for being sexually liberated, I find myself turned off by the thought of sleeping with a woman who wants to use me as much as I’d be using her.
Call me a pig, because I’d fully deserve it, but I’m tired of being with chicks who like my money, my face, and my cock, and who don’t give a shit about anything else.
“The woman is worth more than casual sex in the bathroom, and you know it, Hart. The question is, are you man enough to admit it, or am I going to have to hurt you?” Heath drawls, his soft-spoken warning so clear that I pause and turn to look at him, tensing only slightly when Chantel wraps herself around me.
It’s then that I feel a tingle at the nape of my neck and know, without turning, that Sin is still here, and that her eyes are on me—and on the production that Chantel finds it necessary to make whenever we’re together.
“Why do it, then?” I ask, my eyes narrowing when Heath smiles tightly and glances past me, his mouth thinning.
“Because I know all about loss, man, and let me tell ya from experience, it isn’t something that you ever get over. Take it from me, rich boy: some things are worth fighting for. If you’re too much of a pussy to lay down your pride and fight like a man, then step aside for someone who will.”
I hear the warning there, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to tread lightly when I smell her, so close that my cock starts to thump behind my zipper.
“Oh, look. Grange,” Chantel purrs, her grip on my arm so tight that I grimace as I turn to face a smirking Grange and Sin, who’s smiling so broadly that I see her back teeth.
It doesn’t escape me that Chantel just snubbed Sin, or that Sinai got the message, especially when she adopts an innocent look and flutters her lashes.
“Why, Grange, it seems we’ve found another woman who can’t resist your charms. Careful now, honey, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch,” she purrs, her laughter coming out in a husky bark that Grange eats up as he pulls her closer and practically devours her with his eyes.
“No worries, darlin’—this man knows what he’s got. Well, folks, just wanted to say good night. The little lady here promised me breakfast,” he drawls, his smile never slipping as Chantel titters and Sin grins, her eyes so hard when they meet mine that I swallow and feel a sliver of doubt fill me.
She wouldn’t.
“Breakfast, Grange? But we haven’t even had dinner yet,” Chantel points out, her innuendo so crass that even I cringe and have to grind my jaw in order to keep from snapping at her.
“Now, darlin’, a gentleman doesn’t play into that kind of insinuation. G’night, all. I hope your breakfast is as good as mine promises to be,” he purrs, his eyes taunting as he gathers Sinai closer and pulls her towards the door.
She doesn’t make a peep—not that she has to say anything.
“Well, that’s nice. They make a lovely couple,” Chantel muses, her nails digging into my arm even through my jacket.
“They aren’t a couple,” I mutter, my control slipping when I turn to walk back into the ballroom, where most of the guests are still in the swing of socializing.
I meet Z’s eyes and find Rosetta smirking back at me, and I know as surely as I know my name that if she has anything to do with it, Sin will be more than just coupled with Grange. Goddammit!
“Well, it sure looked like it to me.”
Sinai
I roll over in bed with a groan and blink away the foggy remnants of sleep just as Grange saunters in, looking all kinds of yummy and carrying a tray of food that makes my stomach sit up and pay attention.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he chuckles, his eyes twinkling when he notices the way I check him out in those gray sweats that do nothing to hide what his mama gave him.
Lord, have mercy—the man can thank his lucky stars that I’m suffering from a hangover, that my mouth tastes like crap, and that I have more morals than I ever thought I did before I met that rat bastard Paris Hart.
“Marry me,” I moan, as I sit up against the pillows and make space for the breakfast tray he hands me, his chuckles turning into a frown when I lean closer to the food and sudden
ly shove the tray away, bolting for the bathroom so fast that I barely have time to shove my hair out of my face before I throw up hard enough to crack a rib.
“Sin, honey,” he croons, bringing his hands out to gather up my hair when I heave again and expel so much puke that some of it shoots through my nose, leaving behind a burn that makes me sneeze.
Before I puke again.
“Sin?”
“God, I should have passed on the schnapps,” I groan, my body breaking out into a cold sweat when another violent bout of nausea slams into me and makes me shudder through a dry heave.
His chuckles shake me as he helps me rise, flushes the toilet, and sets about wiping my face with a cold cloth, his eyes filled with concern when I flop against his chest and cling to him as if my life depends on it. I feel like death, and my head is swimming when I push away from him to grab my toothbrush and rid my mouth of the awful, bitter taste of bile.
“Honey, you had exactly two drinks last night that I counted. The rest of it was water, something that Tee was laughing her ass off about because you were so riled up that you didn’t even notice,” Grange says softly, stopping me in my tracks so thoroughly that the toothbrush drops from my mouth and lands in the toilet beside me.
“What? No. I definitely remember that I had tequila, whiskey, and schnapps,” I murmur, frowning because last night isn’t a blur.
In fact, I distinctly remember walking out of the Hart family home feeling so angry that I thought my head was going to explode, and then Grange suggested that we catch up with Tee—and Ares, who apparently followed after her despite the threat that she’d kill him, cut off his marbles, and shove them up his ass.
