Hot as Sin (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Katherine Lace

  Why, Jess? Why did you do it? Couldn’t just be the good little girl and keep your mouth shut and your knees together, could you?

  No, actually, I couldn’t. No one should have to. This isn’t the fucking Dark Ages. I swallow hard, gathering myself. Pop’s grip on my hair lessens a little, but he still shoves me through the door to his office. I lurch, almost losing my balance and toppling onto the floor. My hands reach out, finding the desk before I fall.

  And there, next to the desk, his nose swollen and a look of pure hatred on his face, is Carmine Romano.

  Shit. Just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse.

  I manage to collect myself, straightening, drawing a hand through my hair, adjusting my shirt. I don’t look at Carmine. I never want to look at him again. I don’t want to acknowledge my father, either, but he slams the door behind him and stands with his feet braced, arms crossed over his chest, his face a picture of barely controlled rage.

  “You want to tell me exactly what the fuck you think you’re playing at?” His voice is a low growl. I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid of him in my life.

  At the same time, though, I’m hardening inside. The fear is turning into something else. I pull my spine that much straighter and look him in the face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Pop takes a menacing step forward, hands lowering, clenching into fists at his sides. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. McAllister had his hands all over you at the match last night, and after…” His gaze cuts to the side, to Carmine. “Well, you know damn well what happened after.”

  “That’s none of your business.” I’m not going to let him run roughshod over me. I’m just not. I can’t. Not anymore.

  He takes another step forward and then he suddenly just relaxes, the tension going out of him. His voice when he speaks is very quiet, very calm. And that’s the scariest thing about it. When he does this, I know he’s about as angry as it’s possible for him to get.

  “Yes, it is very much my business. You are my daughter. Your actions reflect on this family. And you will do as I tell you.”

  I can’t help it; I glance at Carmine, too. His face looks worse than it did last night, his eye swollen, his cheek a purplish color nearly down to his chin. All that with just one hit. The thought makes me absurdly pleased. My man did that to him. To protect me. “I won’t marry him,” I say, and my voice is quiet, too. “I won’t.”

  “Jessica. You’re not going to have much choice. Cain’s a dead man. I need him for one more fight, and then he’s going to pay for touching my daughter.”

  “It’s my choice, Pop—” But there’s no chance I’m going to get a word in edgewise. My opinions don’t matter here.

  “And it was a bad one, Jess. Cain’s being taken care of. Right now. And when he’s gone, then you’ll do what I tell you. You’ll marry Carmine, and you’ll pay attention to this family, the way you should have been doing from the beginning.”

  I clench my fists. “I will not marry Carmine. You can’t make me!” I feel—and sound—like a five-year-old. God. How has he managed to turn me into this?

  Pop just shakes his head. I can see Carmine smirking out of the corner of my eye. That son of a bitch. I want to punch him in the face myself.

  “No.” I can’t help it—the tears are back. I hate myself for it, but I’m so angry, so infuriated, and so afraid. Terrified. For Cain. For myself. My voice rises to a shriek. “If I want Cain, I’ll have him! There’s nothing you can do about it! I already slept with him!” I take a step backward toward the door as Pop takes a threatening step toward me. “Face it. I’m damaged goods. And I will not let you run my life!”

  I whirl and head for the door, half expecting one or both of the men to stop me. But I hear Pop mumble something to Carmine behind me, and neither of them makes a move. I shove through the office door and head for the garage. I’ve got to get to Cain. Whatever’s happening to him right now, I have to stop it.

  I’m not sure how I make it to the garage, much less to Cain’s place with the tears filling my eyes, blurring my vision, and the rage in my chest making it damn near impossible to breathe. But before I can quite process what’s happening, I’m powering down the road, and within ten minutes I’ve pulled up in front of Cain’s house. There are two black cars in the parking area that I know don’t belong to him. Pop’s men, I’m sure, and my heart beats even harder, if that’s possible. I feel like it’s about to explode.

  He won’t kill him. It’s a weak reassurance, but I know it’s true. Pop won’t have him killed quite yet. He said he needs Cain for one more fight. Then, I’m sure, all bets will be off.

  I run up the stairs to the front of the condo and bang on the door like an idiot. Sure, somebody’s going to come answer it. Good call, Jess. It’s unlocked, though, I realize, and I push it open.

  I can hear what’s going on before I even get close. The sound of fists on flesh, rawer even than the sounds of the fighting ring from last night. I hear helpless grunts—Cain. Low, menacing voices—whoever’s beating on him. I run toward the sounds.

  Cain’s got one knee down on the floor, and two men in dark suits are pounding him. One of them has brass knuckles on; I can see the glint of the metal as he swings at Cain. Cain ducks, though, and the blow slides just past the point of his jaw. He’s bloodied up, but not much worse than he was last night. Apparently he’s been holding his own. Barely.

  “Stop it!” I scream helplessly. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”

  The men turn to look at me. One of them has hold of Cain’s shirt collar, and he doesn’t let go of it as he gives me a feral grin. “Ah, Cain, I see you need your girl to rescue you.”

  “Fuck off,” says Cain, and lands a hard punch to the man’s jaw. The man crumples, and Cain lurches to his feet. The other man lunges toward him, but Cain ducks again, grabs him by the back of his jacket, and swings him into the nearby couch. I hear a cracking sound as the man’s head hits the couch’s wooden framework. He’s down for a few seconds and then staggers halfway to his feet. I head for Cain, even though he’s waving for me to stay still. I move in to help support him, but he’s got most of his weight balanced back on his feet again, and doesn’t really seem to need the assistance. I can smell the blood and sweat on him.

  “Get the fuck out of my house,” he says to his attackers. The men both make their way back to their own feet. The first one, the one who took the punch to the jaw, straightens his jacket.

  “We weren’t supposed to kill you,” he says, almost as if he didn’t just get the shit pounded out of him. “Next time, though…”

  The bruise growing on his jaw means it should be hard for me to take him seriously, but his words send chills down my back. They’re serious about killing Cain. My own father is dead serious about killing the man I’ve—

  That thought breaks off, because I don’t know how to finish it. The man I’ve what? Chosen to sleep with? Taken as a lover? Been thinking about marrying, even though it is, as Cain said, the shittiest idea in the history of shitty ideas?

  Except maybe it’s not. Cain takes a sharp step toward the two men, and they depart, trying to act like they’re not scared of him. Two against one, and still they’re slinking away to lick their wounds. I glare in their direction, not that it helps anything. I wish I could set their stupid suits on fire with my eyeballs.

  The door falls shut behind them, and I turn to Cain. “Are you okay?”

  He knuckles his lip where it’s bleeding again. The cut from last night has opened up again, wider, and there’s a trail of blood running down his chin. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  From the way he rolls his shoulder, wincing, I think maybe he’s not, but I’m not going to argue with him. “Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

  I take his arm, though he doesn’t really need my support—he’s hurt but he’s not exactly off his feet—and he directs me to the bathroom. The last few steps, he’s a little unsteady, and I
latch my arm around his waist, holding on to him. He takes a sharp breath, and I wonder if he’s been hit in the ribs or something.

  “Sit,” I tell him, pointing to the closed toilet lid.

  “Jess—”

  “Sit.”

  He sits. I start to unbutton his shirt, peeling it gently off him.

  It looks like they beat him more along the torso than on his face. That makes sense if maybe they didn’t want to advertise the fact they’d beaten the shit out of him. I wonder if that order came from my father: “Not the face. Nothing that will show.” It’s the kind of thing he used to think about when he was smacking Mom around.

  I feel my lips tightening against my teeth and force myself to focus on the present. Cain needs me. I ease the shirt down from his shoulders and take a good look at his body. I eye him with clinical detachment—it’s good practice for my future career, if nothing else. Disengage the emotion, the fear for him. Not to mention the desire. Just evaluate the injuries.

  He’s got some heavy bruising along his ribs, right where my hand went when I went to grab him, trying to steady him as we walked into the bathroom. I touch the area again, lightly, and he winces.

  “Broken rib?” I ask. My brain starts to race through all the things a broken rib could lead to. I redirect it to how a broken rib needs to be treated, since I’m pretty sure I’d know by now if he had a punctured lung.

  “I don’t think so. They got me pretty hard there though.”

  “Dammit.” So much for clinical detachment. I just can’t hold on to it. I clench my teeth and go rooting through the medicine cabinet. “This is my fault.”

  “How is it your fault, Jess? I’m the one who insisted we go out to that restaurant. I’m the one who hit fucking Carmine in his fucking face.” He hesitates, rolling his shoulder again. When he speaks again it’s in an obstinate mutter. “I’d do it again, too.”

  “Right.” I’ve got some alcohol and cotton balls, and I’m ready to clean his face. “Hold still. This is going to sting.”

  But when I head for his cut lip with the cotton ball, he grabs my wrist. “Jess. It’s fine. I don’t need doctoring.”

  “You’re a mess, Cain.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been a mess before, and I’ll be a mess again. I’ll get over it.”

  “But he’s going to expect you to fight…” I stop. Sobs are rushing up my throat, and it’s all I can do to swallow them before they burst out. “Cain. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t let him keep hurting you.”

  His hand is firm on my wrist but not harsh. Now his fingers loosen a bit; he strokes the inside of my wrist with his thumb. “It’s my job to get hurt. Always has been.”

  “In the cage, maybe, but not…” I stop again. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say to him. I just know I hate this—where we are, how we got here, and the certainty that there’s no real way out of it. “God. I hate him for what he’s done to you. I hate him for what he’s done to me. I hate him, Cain!” Everything inside me is breaking apart. I want to fly at Cain, pummel him with my fists until he understands. I can’t do that. He’s hurt. And it’s my father who’s hurt him.

  “Yeah, hon. Yeah. Hush.” His hand on my wrist pulls me closer, and he kisses my forehead. Then suddenly he tangles his other hand in the hair at the nape of my neck and drags me to him. His mouth shoves hard into mine and I can taste the open cut on his lip.

  Suddenly he’s biting into my mouth, his teeth all but scraping my tongue as he takes me so deep and hard our front teeth bang into each other. The pain is a sharp shock that echoes up into my face. I grab at him, fingers digging hard into his biceps. A small gasp of protest comes from him—I’m pretty sure I’ve tweaked the shoulder he was favoring earlier—but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even try to say anything. Just kisses me like he’s trying to climb inside me.

  I’m nothing but my mouth on Cain’s mouth, his breath mixing with mine, the deep, bruising kisses claiming me. His hand on my hair is so tight it hurts; I can feel some strands separating from my head and still his fingers clench, the short, dull nails digging into my scalp. My own fingers are digging into his arms, feeling the strong bone beneath the firm muscle.

  Suddenly he jerks back, and I cry out at the abrupt separation. I want him back, want that taste in my mouth again. “Cain…”

  He shakes his head. Then he comes to his feet, bringing me with him. “You know why he did this.”

  I can’t help it—I look at the darkening bruise on his ribs, under his right arm. It’s deep blue, nearly black near the center. It’ll only get darker over the next few hours, I’m sure. A pang of guilt constricts my diaphragm. “Because of me.”

  “No. Because of us.” His voice is intense, sincere, and I’m not sure what he’s getting at. “Jess…” He stops, and suddenly his arms are on my shoulders, shaking me a little. “Jess. I want you. Now. Your father can’t stop this—can’t stop any of this. This is you and me. Just you and me.” He’s breathy and panting, and I wonder if what he’s saying makes any sense to him, because it’s not making much sense to me. Except for the part where he wants me.

  “Cain…”

  He grabs my blouse and rips it open down the front. Buttons pop off, and I hear one pinging off the porcelain of the tub behind me. He lifts me bodily from the floor and sets me on the sink, and his head dives between my breasts. He nips, and I flinch and then gasp at the sharp bite of his teeth on my nipple. Then he’s biting down my stomach, his tongue thrusting into my navel. Teeth again below, in the softer skin of my belly. Then his mouth is between my legs and I grab frantically at his hair, afraid I’m going to fall right off the sink.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” I can barely make out what he’s saying because his mouth is full of…well, me, but his hands are firm on my hips and I can tell he’s not going to let me fall. Which is good, since I’m not sure I can focus enough on keeping my balance with him doing that between my legs.

  He’s got mad skills with his tongue, that’s for sure. It rolls and flicks and thrusts into me, rolling my clit, stabbing into my pussy, lapping at the wetness pouring out of me. I relax a little, feeling more secure, and instead of grasping at his hair I’m combing my hand through it, the other hand braced on the counter. I’m melting and catching fire all at the same time, his mouth making filthy noises between my legs. My thighs are draped over his wide shoulders now as he pushes even closer in. His mouth takes in all of my pussy, sucking, then his tongue stroking along the length of me makes me gasp again.

  And then teeth. God. If anybody had ever told me I’d enjoy having my clit bitten I would have told them to get the fuck out, but Cain’s teeth tightening there makes me jump and almost scream, and not in pain. Not by a long shot. He chuckles as he tightens his grip there, the edges of his teeth nipping just a tiny bit harder then letting go. He uses his teeth all over my pussy, just hard enough that the pain ratchets up the pleasure until I swear to God I’m going to have a heart attack before I manage to orgasm. Or during.

  His fingers are digging into my ass cheeks, one of them nearly breaching my asshole. I’m not sure he’s aware he’s doing that, but I can feel it, and it’s just one more point of sensation, and suddenly he digs a little harder into me and shakes his head hard between my legs, his tongue flat against my clit, and everything goes haywire. My whole body clenches, and I feel my pussy throbbing, pulsing, tight and hard. He shoves a finger inside me right as I’m climaxing, follows it with another, then I think with a third. As far as I can tell he’s got his whole hand in there, and I’m squeezing it for all I’m worth, with absolutely no control over my body or my breath. Everything goes black for a moment as the orgasm roars up my belly, into my chest. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before; it’s like drowning, like dying, like being dragged under a fast, fast current with no hope of recovering.

  It’s so intense I can’t even think about whether my position on the sink is precarious. I can’t think about whether I’m pulling Cain’s hair out o
r whether my fingernails are digging into his scalp. All I can feel is my body and the climax pouring through me.

  It feels like it lasts forever, but then I’m coming back to myself. Aftershocks still ripple through me, and just the aftershocks are every bit as intense as any other, ordinary, non-Cain-related orgasm I’ve had in the past. My face is wet, and I realize I’ve been crying my way through it.

  Slowly, as if he realizes I’m coming down from the peak, Cain draws his fingers out of me and gently strokes the wetness over my clit. I’m so hyper-sensitized it damn near hurts, and I squeeze out a, “No,” as best I can.

  He just chuckles and does it again. Then he licks me. I jerk on his hair, pulling his mouth away from me.

  “Too much for you?” he asks.

  “God,” is all I can manage in reply. His fingers squeeze my ass again, one finger just there, and now I know damn well he knows what he’s doing.

  “That’s too bad,” he says, “because I’m not done yet.”

  “Oh God, I don’t know…” I trail off, trying to breathe.

  “You’ll be fine,” he says offhandedly. “A couple more orgasms aren’t going to kill you.”

  “A couple…” I can’t quite grasp the concept, much less put words to it.

  He shrugs. “Two, three, five… Who’s counting?”

  I have a feeling I will be. I also have a feeling I’m not going to have much choice in the matter. Frankly that’s fine with me.

  He pushes up from his knees and licks his way across my breasts. Bites at my nipples again, and I resist the urge to swat his face away. It’s too much, and yet not too much. I don’t even know how to describe the way I’m feeling right now. All I can do is just…feel it.

  The hands on my ass tense, and he lifts me off the sink. Automatically I wrap my legs around his waist. He’s still fully dressed, and that seems unfair since I’m barely covered, clothes undone and torn and askew, nothing where it’s supposed to be. This man is hell on my wardrobe. But he hefts me easily, that casual strength as much of a turn-on as anything else about him, and turns me around.