Make Me Sin (Dark Gods #1)

Chapter 20

I can't seem to wipe the shock off my face as I find myself here once again, fighting memories of Nick, and especially the unreal memories I think I have of Seth. His cologne seems that much stronger now, sending me straight back to the night when I followed it along the hallway.

We both come to a halt in the living room, yet I feel he's expecting me to go somewhere else. I know exactly where he wants me; I just can't bring myself to go there.

I could try to run away, but where exactly could I go? I probably wouldn’t make it down to the lobby with all the guards he has around. I’m better off just playing dumb, pretending I don't understand what he wants of me. And for the first time, he doesn't seem angry about it. I know he's aware I'm bluffing; still, his fingers intertwine with mine, and he slowly pulls me toward the bedroom. He's almost tender, and that gives me even more reasons to worry. I'm starting to think I prefer the psycho part of him. At least that part is predictable.

We come to a stop in the middle of the bedroom, and a sense of déjà vu washes over me.

“Take a seat on the bed.” It sounds more like an invitation than a command, and it makes me all baffled. Nevertheless, I'm smart enough to do as he says and take a seat on the edge of the bed, barely touching the mattress as if it will sting me. I'm trembling, and despite my efforts to conceal the nervous shaking in my limbs, I fail to do so.

“Relax.” His voice soft, like he truly wants me to ease up.

I can't be relaxed around him. But I can be turned on, and whatever trick he's trying to pull on me, it seems to be working. My eyes are pointing at the floor. I know it's probably a sign of weakness, but if I were to look at him right now, I think his gaze would torch me alive. I do, however, see him with the corner of my eye as he is taking a seat on the bed next to me, dropping his body into the pillows.

I'm so tense that the sound of his voice almost makes me jump through the roof. “Slow,” he whispers, and I feel his hands molding to my hips from behind, pulling me toward him until my back is glued to his chest, my body resting between his legs.

I'm having such a strange déjà vu about this again. And I can't help myself from thinking about the night when I imagined him wrapping his arms around me the same way he's doing now. I guess the saying Be careful what you wish for really does apply.

I suddenly turn to look at the sheet that could serve as a cover. I could turn into a snail right now, wrapping myself in the sheet until not even my eyes peek out. And, of course, he notices. He always notices. “You're not going to need the sheets this time. I want to see you.”

I need an ambulance because I'm about to faint, or at least internally implode.

What does this time even mean?

As if he's hearing my internal questions, he fills in the blanks for me. “I watched you touch yourself while thinking of me. Remember? You were here, in this room, on this bed, calling for me.”

I. Can't. Breathe.

Doesn't he know I'm an introvert, or how his words are going to repeat themselves in the back of my mind for the rest of my life?

I’ve never felt so embarrassed as I do now. I probably look like one of those horny teenagers throwing their bra on stage when their favorite rock star is performing. Except, I'm not a teenager anymore; maybe just horny.

However, my indiscretions don't seem to be so embarrassing for Seth. On the contrary, he finds it a turn-on. “I'm here now,” he continues like this is an answer to my prayers. Okay, maybe on that night, it could have been the right answer to everything. But not now, not after everything I've been through.

“You're sick,” I whine.

“Yes,” the joy in his voice, as he admits it again, sends a cold chill running down my spine.

I don't exactly have time for a heart attack before his hands clutch my hips so tightly that I know they’ll leave purple marks in the morning. I suddenly feel him stiffen... everywhere, and the bulge in his pants is poking me in the back, just to remind me that he gets off on torturing people.

Despite his visible restlessness, I feel he's trying to keep control. His lips find the shape of my neck. It's like he's instantly drugging me with a kind of poison only he can develop, and after feeling the moistness of his tongue playing on my skin, I’m seconds away from slipping on the bed, turning into slime between his fingers. I guess I finally listened. I relaxed.

“See, this is how we were supposed to begin things in the first place, but you kept running that mouth of yours, and messing everything up,” he breathes out the words as he continues gently kissing my neck. And just as I prepare to tell him it's not my fault he's a psycho, I get another warning: “Run it again, and who knows what will happen?”

I don't want to know what will happen, especially here, on the 13th floor, where my only escape route could be through the balcony. It's too early in the evening to start learning how to fly, and yet it's not too early to start learning how to keep my mouth shut. That's my main goal for the evening, although I have the feeling that Seth is going to do his best to get the opposite reaction out of me.

His hands grip the hem of my dress, gently lifting it until it starts to wrinkle on my hips. Fuck, he's going to discover I'm not wearing panties. I tried several pairs on, and they were showing through the dress. I have to remember that next time I want to make a fashion statement, it’d better not be when I'm meeting Seth.

Just as I thought, the new discovery doesn't bother him. On the contrary, a groan breaks from his throat, reverberating directly on my back. “I was feeling extra generous, and decided to give you more time, but this is just like twisting a knife in an open wound.”

I definitely didn't do it thinking of him, but each second of his torture brings me pleasure, so I must be as deranged as he is at this point. Although I know I'm not the one twisting the knife. He is. His hands sneaking between my thighs assure me of it.

“Touch yourself.” This time, it does sound like a command, and my mind seems to be having trouble processing his words.

What?

A new level of embarrassment just hit.

I'm not a nun in bed, but the tone of his voice is so erotic that it could make a porn star blush. I know I have to listen to him. My last drops of sanity tell me to do it as a self-defense mechanism is kicking in, my hands refusing to move.

Strangely, he's not angry, more like amused: “You've touched yourself before thinking of me. I need you to do it again, Ya’amar.” He doesn't get to finish this sentence before his hand catches mine, and takes it straight between my legs.

Fuck, I'm wet. It’s the first thing that comes to mind now that I realize my brain apparently isn't connected to the rest of my body. I'm somehow happy that I'm the one who gets to notice it and not him, but also mad at myself for letting it happen.

What the hell is he doing to me?

That's a question I'm not sure I will ever find an answer to. Okay, physically, I think I'm going to find an answer soon enough. His hand begins moving mine between my folds. And even though my fingers might seem lifeless at this point, his sure aren't. He's moving my hand straight where I know it needs to be, playing on the sensitive nub that will make me shake again like one of those dangling dogs you put on your car's dashboard.

This should be so easy. I mean, he is right—I’ve done this before thinking of him. So why does it seem so complicated now that he's here?

It's only complicated in my head because my body seems to know exactly what to do, and falls straight into the trap his moving hand is setting.

Still, it doesn't seem to be enough for him, so he pulls me against his chest so tightly that my head shipwrecks on his shoulder. He now has a much better view of my whole body, and also better access to the shape of my cleavage, which he decides to thoroughly explore.

I feel him teasing the upper contour of my dress, and my nipples harden beneath it, poking through the fabric like they're calling out for him to touch them.

He’s definitely drawn to their calling, slipping one of the straps of my dress over my shoulder, while I don't know if I should focus on the fact that he's undressing me or that my fingers are now moving on their own.

His hand is still there, ensuring I don't run away, but his attention has a whole different focus. Seth plays with the top of my dress, taking his time to expose the full roundness of my breasts. I can feel from his hitched breath that the newly unveiled playground is a huge turn-on. And with the way he's biting on the line of my jaw while his hand closes around one of my breasts, he's getting me as aroused as he is, instilling the same thrill he has within me.

His kisses are becoming rougher by the second, and so does his grip on my nipple. The sharp pain almost brings me to tears. And that's not what scares me. It's the wave of something so strange spreading inside my body. It's some kind of pleasure. Vibrating, consuming pleasure. A kind of pleasure I'm not sure I'm ready to handle. I brace my feet against the mattress, desperate to escape before he breaks another one of my limits. Sure, any normal woman would love that he's an explorer of pleasure, but I know better. He's a consumer of souls and bodies, and mine seems to be marked down as a delicacy.

I suddenly remember the blood on his hand, and I instantly push myself against him to break free. But with a grip of stone, he's keeping me there, fighting through the devastation that's building in my body, and the horrific memories that are tied to him.

Before I get the chance to escape him, his hand wraps around my neck so tightly that I think it's about to snap.

“I'm not done with you,” he hisses in my ear, like the snake he is, pulling me against his chest.

I could swear my heart just stopped beating. And he must know it because he instantly gives me a whole new level of CPR. He slaps my pussy hard enough it turns bright pink, making me squirm against him. The hand he holds on my throat doesn't let me turn off this time, and neither do his words, “You're mine.”

He's never going to let me forget that, and I know he's enough of a psycho to exploit his property well beyond my limits.

I grind my teeth as I try to hold back the pain, and I know I need to get my hand back between my thighs. He just gestured for me to do it, but at this point, I can barely touch myself. He's becoming aware of that because my fingers are trembling over the sensitive bundle of nerves he just abused .

It doesn't bother him that I don't really follow his command. His fingers slip beneath my own and pick up speed straight over my clit. It's not even that kind of all-over-the place movement Nick used to do, thinking that faster means better. No, Seth is totally in control. He knows exactly where to touch me, maybe even better than I do. And that sends me again from agony to ecstasy, making me forget even about his hand being wrapped around my neck. But my body, struggling to fight for air, doesn't. I arch against him, gasping for oxygen, and I realize his hand seems so much more present there. His movements are all I can focus on, consuming my thoughts entirely.

I think we're going to need a safe word if this keeps up.

But he knows he can't go on for long before he leaves me lifeless, so I feel his hand sliding from my neck to the side of my jaw, drawing my head to the side to look at him.

I'm out of breath, and pretty much drained of strength. Still, that doesn't stop him from claiming my lips, and I feel like I'm drawing air from his lungs so I can catch my breath again. It's like he's breathing life back into me, and despite all the things that I've been through, this seems to be the most intense experience I've ever had.

It's probably because of the heat of the moment, but every drop of pain turns into a pleasure I've never known before. He's taken full control of me, claiming his property with every swirl of his tongue.

I wish I didn't enjoy this so much, but it’s like I can’t fight the urge anymore. My nails are digging deep into his hand that's moving between my thighs, and my mouth responds to his own.

It's not even the things he does to me—it's the thoughts he seems to slip into my mind. Or maybe they were there all along, and he just opened some locked door.

In the lamest attempt to fight back a moan, I sink my teeth into his lower lip, and it feels like triggering his red button. He suddenly craves more. More from our kiss and much more from my body. He's biting my lips back like he wants to draw blood from them, while his hand falls from my neck to my breasts, grabbing my pebbled nipples.

It feels raw. And I know he's getting a kick out of my pain. I even want to break the kiss, but he doesn't let me, and I don't have the power to fight him anymore. All I can do is tremble and try to figure out if I'm crying out in pain or moaning my lungs out. That only drives him to go on by pinching my sensitive clit so hard that my vision blurs. I’m overwhelmed by the avalanche of sensations he's forcing on me. I want to scream, and at the same time, I want to cry out in joy, feeling his fingers gliding over and over my swollen flesh to ease the pain.

I realize what he's doing. He wants me to be dependent on him, and with each swirl, he's succeeding. He's drawing pleasure from pain, and I can't stop thinking he’s an expert on that.

Every nanocell in my body is fighting for release, and the moment it happens, I think my brain is going to pop a vessel from all the pressure. I don't even know what to do with myself anymore. Some animalistic instincts kick in. I'm suddenly feeding on the pain his fingers twisting on my nipple are provoking, while my pussy convulses from the orgasm.

This intensity is too much—I can’t hold out as long as I did a few nights ago. I'm almost begging for him to stop when he breaks the kiss to glare into the depths of my eyes. It feels like his gaze pierces through to my very soul. “Say my name the way you did on that night.”

I know he's not going to stop unless I do it, and that would mean I would probably faint in the next twenty seconds.

Since I don't want to be unconscious next to him, my lips part to call out his name.

Okay, maybe it was also part of a natural response on my end, but I would prefer if the incursion in my fucked-up mind would stop here.

“Seth,” I breathe out, realizing I can barely speak anymore.

His hand is still moving.

“Lose the H...” he murmurs like he's making the most intimate confession ever.

To be honest, at this moment, I don't understand where he's going with it, but I do listen to him. “Set,” I moan over and over again. “Set... Set,” and I feel his grip loosening, so I take the chance to roll over so I won't internally combust in his arms. I don't know when I stopped calling his name; it seems like I was on that high for hours. His hand might have disappeared from between my thighs, but his body followed mine on the mattress. He's spooning me as I'm face down on the bed, deeply buried between some pillows, trying to figure out what the hell just happened to me.

He seems like a serial killer in these moments, getting a kick out of his dead victim, and it just feels like the victim this time was my pussy.

“How did it feel?” he slowly whispers in the back of my head. “Did I live up to your fantasies?”

I want to scream my lungs out with a loud NO, but that would make me a liar. He just fulfilled every fantasy I didn't even know I had. However, I'm never going to tell him that. And I don't even think I can since I feel I'm half paralyzed. His body weight is gently pressing on me. Not enough to cause me any kind of discomfort, just enough for him to let me know he's here. And he remains like that for long minutes, maybe even hours, making me fully aware of his presence, not just tonight in this bed, but in my life.

I must have dozed off. How could I not, since I feel he's shaking my whole existence one day at a time? He's not here now that I open my eyes. I don't know if he left or he’s still around in the suite, but I run to the bathroom to wash my face, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. I look in the mirror, and I barely recognize myself anymore. It's like something toxic got inside of me, blowing my mind, and making me forget every time this man touches me that he's a killer.

I want to do something to fix myself before it is too late because I'm afraid I will soon be without redemption. Hot tears suddenly run down my cheek, and I realize that my make-up is draining into the sink as I splash my face, hoping the cold water can shock some sense back into me. It's beginning to be more and more difficult to think or even breathe lately, and I know that Set's ultimate goal is for me to not be able to live without him. That's what all the textbook psychopaths want. And I'm sure he's the perfect definition of one.

I leave the bathroom, maybe even more broken than when I entered, but I don't get to reach the bed before I can hear Set's voice coming from the balcony. “You're awake?” he asks. I know he's not just checking in on me. He wants me to come there, and I'm not sure if I can face the consequences of playing dumb with him.

“Yes,” I answer, just as I step out on the balcony to find a view that will alter my existence. If I was out of breath before, he just took away the last drop of oxygen I had left in me. Maybe because it’s 100° outside, but his shirt seems to be missing while his pants are rolled up to his knees. I want to look away; I really do, but I feel I've been slacking in the anatomy classes, and it's time for me to catch up. I can't take my eyes away from the perfect ripple of muscles in front of me, but what captures me even more is the black ink sprawled across them. My mouth runs bone dry, and this time it is not because of the heat, at least not the external one.

I’m having a mental battle again, trying to understand how a man like him wants me, while at the same time being perfectly aware that this should be a cause of concern, not one that gets my panties wet.

You know when you read a smut book, and the perfect words seem to drain through your body, heating the exact spot between your thighs? Well, Set is my smut book. I just have to find a way to stop getting lost between the pages.

I find hieroglyphs amongst his other tattoos, and I suddenly crave to be Indiana Jones. He's like a study case. My gut tells me he's not even from this world, and I can't help myself from wondering what the black scribblings on his skin mean.

He’s so imposing that he seems like a king watching over his realm, his hands gripping the railing, and his piercing gaze scouting the streets below, like he has to be in control of everything that goes on down there.

“You know, for someone who is supposed to hate me, your pussy is a little too anxious for her own sake in my presence.” He yanks me away from my thoughts with the most absurd allegation I've ever heard.

“I don't.” I try to defend myself, but he cuts me short.

“I can see what you're dreaming of, so don't go to the trouble of denying it.” He speaks so certain of his words that I'm starting to believe he can get inside my mind.

I need to change the subject. “I was just wondering about the pyramid on your calf.” The meaning of his tattoos was on my mind after all, just not as important as other thoughts.

“It's from a different lifetime,” his tone incredibly calm, almost sad, I might think. A long moment of silence follows. “Nothing can ever compare with the sun setting over the desert. Vegas reminds me of it. It's the closest thing, and yet furthest from home.”

“You're not from around here?” I ask, because there's nothing about him giving out that he wasn't born and raised in this place.

“No, I am not from around here.” A faint smile tugging at his lips, “but as I said, it was a long time ago. I‘ve even forgotten most of it.” I can sense genuine emotion in his voice, but he doesn't let me witness it for too long. Maybe he just realized that I might see him as human, and he assured himself I wouldn't have that to hold against him. “Return to bed, Serena, before I change my mind about tonight, and we'll chase the next sunset with me still buried inside you.”

He doesn't have to tell me twice; I almost run back to bed, cradling all the sheets I can find around me and forcing myself to sleep before I give him any other kind of idea. I mean, he's the one who called me there anyway. But just because he probably showed me one of his weaknesses, I'm not going to mistake him for a human being.

I close my eyes, trying to fall asleep as fast as I can while his silhouette is watching over me from the balcony. Good night, Set, Ruler of Kingdoms and Devourer of Dreams.