Make Me Sin (Dark Gods #1)

Chapter 25 #2

“The detective,” I answer, finally catching on to what’s going on.

“What do you remember happening before your brother died?” Set asks while his fingers brush lightly down on my arm.

I only remember parts of it. “Michael was preparing for a job. He didn't want to let me in on it.”

“He didn't let you in on it because this man was the one who asked your brother to break into the bank. You see, he found out about a job you and Michael pulled and decided your brother would do a task for him, or else you would both end up in jail. Only the task was rigged. He killed Michael along with his crew so he could get a part of the money from the bank without leaving any kind of trail. See how tanned this motherfucker is? I found him in the Bahamas. He just retired a few months ago based on some fictitious medical conditions. It was so easy for my men to find him and put two and two together, especially since his bank account was overflowing with your brother’s money.”

“My brother's money?” I thought this was about the money they took from the bank.

“Yes, your brother's. It wasn't just about what he stole from the bank on that last heist. It was about getting his hands on the fortune your brother had collected over the years.”

“You. You took the money?” I ask the man, feeling my hand grip the knife’s hilt tighter. “I thought the police confiscated it.” My voice is shaky but the man doesn’t even seem to react in any way, as if he doesn’t hear me.

“Answer her,” Set orders, making the detective’s lips open so he could speak.

“The police only found pocket change. I took the rest,” the man finally confesses without showing any kind of visible remorse.

“Your brother wasn't the first or the last of his victims. I guess he was just the wealthiest of them.” Set goes on, continuing to pin me in place, right in front of my brother's killer.

“How...” I can barely ask, maddening anger rushing through my every vein. “How did you find out about my brother?”

The detective rolls his eyes as if I’m thick in the head, and I'm missing out on something again. “Maybe you should be more careful who you let between those pretty legs of yours.”

Set instantly snatches away from me, striking the man across the face with the back of his palm so hard that his head jerks to the side. By the time the detective manages to look our way again, he's spitting out blood. “Don't make me chop your dick off in front of her,” Set warns, doing exactly what he promised—protecting me.

“Okay, I get it,” my brother's killer struggles to say. “It was your boyfriend. He got drunk one night, and started bragging about some heist he just pulled to a stripper who used to work as my informant.” The news that Nick visited strippers doesn't even bother me anymore. It just makes me ashamed of myself for not noticing the obvious for so long. I guess the heart eats lies when it's hungry. But it's not only shame that I feel inside; it's also hate and rage because Nick had betrayed me once again. He seemed to have been doing that with every occasion he got. I was just too blind to notice.

I barely keep my calm as I wait to hear what the man has to say next. “He sold your brother out so quickly to save his own ass that even I found it shocking. He delivered Michael to me on a silver tray.”

The man starts to laugh about the fact that he killed my brother .

A dark fog falls over my mind and my vision blurs. I open my eyes the very next second, seeing things more clearly than ever. I’m still holding the knife in my hand, and I'm going to take what's mine. Revenge.

I feel the corner of my lips raise into a devious smile as I announce the unavoidable. “You worked with Nick behind our backs. Allow me to show you what I did to him.” My knife plunges deep inside the man's chest, only this time, it's not Set's hand guiding mine, forcing me to do it. I am all on my own, drawing blood for blood and heart for heart.

Set gave me what no other man could. The power of revenge, and even though people say revenge won't fix anything, it feels like honey on my soul, soothing a wound that’s been bleeding for too long. Still, reality kicks in, and the bloody knife I hold in my hand is a burden too much to bear. I start crying and shaking uncontrollably like I’m having PSTD, but it's not because I killed a man. It's because I don't have any regrets about doing it.

I feel Set’s hand covering mine and taking the knife from between my fingers. I'm having trouble breathing again. This time my vision really fails me, and I crash into his arms. Killing the detective took the last drop of strength out of me, and it all went black from there.

-Set-

I carry her back to the penthouse. She's unconscious almost all the way there, but the second the elevator doors open, I hear her whisper, “Blood.”

My eyes dart to her pink sundress, and she's covered in blood. It's not her own. It must be from her hands or maybe from the knife. I don't have any problem seeing her like that—as long as she’s not the one bleeding—but I know she will when she wakes up.

I have to wash this off her.

Rushing inside, I gesture to the guard to dismiss all the staff, so we’ll be alone in here, then carry her down the hallway. I know she's conscious again by the time I step into my bathroom, but she doesn't move, just remains cuddled against my chest like a scared little animal that’s just found comfort. I love the way she feels in my arms, and I would give anything to have her stay like that for days in a row. But I know the longer I let her remain in the state, the longer it will take me to get her out of it.

I don't even bother to take off my clothes; I just turn the water on and let it flow over our bodies.“I need you to stand on your own so I can wash you.” I position her feet to stand on the shower floor, making sure she won't fall. “I’ve got you.” Grabbing the bottom hem of her dress, I lift it over her head, watching her perfect round breasts bounce from the movement as I strip her of the material.

“Fuck,” I groan, remembering that she's not wearing a bra, and forcing myself to keep away from her, although I’m instantly having an internal war. This is going to be much more difficult than I expected. Fighting back all my instincts, I grab a sponge to wash the blood that had transferred from her dress to her skin.

“I killed a cop,” I hear her trying to speak between tears.

“You killed the man who murdered your brother. I don't care if he was a cop or not. And you shouldn't either. He'll disappear without a trace. I already took care of that. Nothing will ever link him back to you.” I stop wiping the blood to kiss the top of her head while I wrap an arm around her for comfort. “I would never let anything happen to you; do you understand that? I would burn heaven and hell for you. It’s just a matter of time before you realize it.”

She lets out a loud sigh, and her head falls tiredly on my chest where I let it remain for a few minutes. I’m going to help her overcome this. I’ll be with her every step of the way until she realizes she only set a wrong right.

The water washes most of the blood away by now. I didn't even get to undress her completely. Her panties are still on, and I plan to keep them that way for both of our sakes. I didn't bring her in here to fuck her, even though my mind went there on more than one occasion in the last few minutes. All the more reason for us to get out of the shower, especially now that the blood is gone.

I turn off the faucet, picking up a large towel that I wrap around her. I don't take her to the bedroom. At this point, I don't think I could resist seeing her there naked, and not jump at the opportunity, especially after she just proved to me she could be so much more than the scared helpless woman she was around Nick.

I carry her to the living room couch while she's still shaking. I was expecting her to go into some kind of shock after killing the detective, but from what I can see, she's a lot better than she was a few moments ago. She’ll pull out of it soon, and I will make sure to speed up that recovery.

I prepare two drinks—one for her and one for me. “Drink this.” I give her a glass of whiskey that I just poured and she downs it to the back of her throat like it's water. “Easy, I don't want you drunk.” I take the empty glass from her hand and put it back on the table.

She hasn't stopped crying ever since we left the basement. I can't really understand what she's going through because taking a life is of no importance to me, but I don't like seeing her like this. It's also causing me pain, and even though I can't remember most of my life, I do remember that I’ve never felt this way.

“Ya’amar!” I call out to her, snapping her from her thoughts. “Enough,” I order, knowing that I'm the only one who can bring her back to reality. “Look at me.”

She doesn't budge at first, but I’m not one to back off. “Raise your head, and your eyes will follow,” I order again, and this time her beautiful blue eyes rise to meet mine. “Why are you crying?” I know the answer to that, but I'm not so sure she knows it as well. “Is it because you killed that man, or because you enjoyed it?”

Instant shock rises on her face, and she looks like I've just exposed her biggest secret. She's just like me, only she can't accept it.

The thought makes me so hard that it nearly takes all my reasoning away, and I kneel next to the couch in front of her. My perfect match.

I can see her pupils flare as I go in for a kiss which she doesn't refuse. Her breasts go up and down under that towel as she is fighting herself to decide what to do about me. Her body wants me, but it’s her mind that still rejects the thought. And I call her out on her game. “You have to decide, Ya’amar. You either want to kill me, or fuck me.” I smile, biting her tongue. “You and I are the same.” I kiss her even harder while I sense her hands go to the center of my chest to push me away. That instantly hits a nerve, but I let her have her way this time. Stepping back, I lock my gaze on hers, fire burning in her eyes. Fucking beautiful.

She probably hates me, but not half as much as she hates herself, and I'm not going to let her fall down that path. I want her to see how valuable she is. I want to offer her self-respect and confidence, and I’m going to build that from the ground up if I have to. That’s why I won't allow her to think too much about what she has done. The less she dwells on the life she took, the easier it will be for her to take another if ever needed. I don’t want her to become a killer, but I do want her to stand up for herself and fight her own battles.

Right now she needs a distraction. And what I'm going to do tonight will probably make her hate me for a while. But it's better to hate me than to hate herself. I can deal with her hate. She can't.Plus, I can't deny myself her for much longer, not without deadly consequences. I'm starting to think that my body is the one that's been fucking with my mind, especially since I’ve never went this long without sex.

I know she wants to taste me as badly as I crave the taste of her; she just needs one little push.

As I rise to my feet, she pulls back her head all the way to the couch's headrest. She’d probably tear my head off right now. All the more reason to be excited about this, especially since I consider it time to show her the cross I bear. Funny how I willingly choose to put a cross on my body. But something tells me my father would laugh his ass off if he ever found out about it.

My thumb dips in my glass of whiskey, then I trail the cold alcohol right over her lips, waiting for her to sip the drops of liquid. Her round eyes widen and she’s fighting back not to do it, but finally, her lips move as the tiny drops disappear between them. “I know you don't understand,” I say, dipping my thumb again in the glass and then placing it over her lips. “But all heroes are evil. It's just a difference in how people perceive them.” I put pressure on her lower lip then glide my index finger under her chin to raise her head until her eyes are looking up into mine. “It depends on where you're standing.” My thumb goes further inside her mouth. “If you're related to the person whose life I took, then I was probably the demon.” I press on her tongue, and it begins sheepishly moving against my finger. “But what if you're the person who is still breathing because I just killed a killer…” Her lips close around my finger, and I keep my free ones under her chin to ensure they stay that way. “So you tell me, Serena, what does that make us? Am I your demon or am I your hero?” I ask, finger-fucking her mouth.

“Fuck,” I hear Set groan as I’m sucking on his finger. I want to tell myself he’s forcing me to do this, but I know better, and his question doesn't help the fog in my mind dissipate. Is he really my demon? With each passing day—maybe even second—there's something telling me I already know the answer to that. I just don't want to accept that answer. I can't allow myself to let him into my life, even though I can barely resist the urge to welcome him into my body.

This feels too intense for my own good. The way his dark eyes sparkle with desire. The power I have over him as he craves the pleasure I bring him. Being desired by a man at this level can be so addicting, especially if that man is Set.

I suck harder on his finger, moving my tongue alongside it until his legs bump into my knees, as they're making room between my thighs. Every single one of my instincts warns me to ask, or even beg him to stay away, and I do nothing but ignore them. Instead, my hands grip the back of his jeans, pulling him closer to me and I hear him groan. “Undo my pants.”

I would’ve never done it if he hadn't ordered it. But it doesn't mean I didn't just think about it, maybe even led him to ask.

What is wrong with me?

My hands are trembling as they move up his jeans, and I feel the shape of his cock threatening to break free from inside of them. I never touched him before. I felt him on other occasions when he pressed against my body, but never like this. And fuck, he is big. Not some kind of dinosaur one—that shit could fuck you up for life; but big enough to give me serious reasons to worry about.

I internally laugh at the thought. The shit running through my mind doesn't stop even at a time like this. But I do stop. The contact with his aroused limb makes me forget even what I was doing, and I think Set just realized it. “Undo them.” I see a devious smirk rise on his lips as he softly breathes the words out. He looks so eager for me to release his cock from the prison of his clothes, as if this would be my fourth gift for the day. Typical man.

His jeans are still cold and wet from earlier in the bathroom; he didn't even have a chance to change. But as I unzip them, I feel the undeniable warmth of his body. It’s too much to resist, as if I’m gravitating around the sun itself. From here on, I’m led only by instincts, a primal, animalistic side of me replacing all reasoning. I want to taste him. My fingernails dig into the hem of his boxers, pulling them down to reveal his length.

What the—

For a moment, I don't even understand what I'm looking at. And I don't mean his cock. I'm staring at the piercing at the tip. Two bars cross each other with four beads that break out from beneath the skin to form a cross. I gulp, unprepared for this. It doesn't even look like a normal cock, but rather a weapon of mass destruction. I can't even begin to imagine the damage it could do to my pussy, or that this shit could get stuck down my throat. Imagine ending up in the ER to get that kind of intrusive object out of you.

“It's called a “ magic cross ,” and believe me when I say; it is magic.” I hear Set speaking, and I don't need to look up at him to know he is amused by my reaction. Still, I can't help myself. My pussy tightens just looking at it, and I'm not sure how I'm going to handle that, and the rest of Set all together.

I take a long breath before opening my mouth and taking him in. I move slowly, trying to wrap my mind around how exactly we got here because I don't even remember him ordering me to do this. Sure, he told me what to do, but it sure didn't sound like an order.

I didn’t even enjoy doing this before, so I always found myself avoiding it with Nick, but Set's cock is a fucking work of art.I instantly feel the need to chuckle. I can't really use “ fucking work of art ” without him cutting my tongue out. And I’m sure that in these moments, my tongue is very useful to him, especially from the long groan reverberating in his throat as I take him further in.

“Eyes up, Ya’amar.” And my gaze goes up at him. “You're doing amazing,” he praises, pushing himself deeper inside my mouth.

His words wash over me, igniting the fire in my already pulsing core.My lips slide up and down his length, letting the metal grind on my teeth from time to time. The sound purely erotic, making short moans escape my lips. With each new glide, I seem to find my courage, and my tongue drifts to play with his tip. I'm still looking up at him, and I notice his pupils flare every time I circle it. His breath picks up, and throated groans make his lips part until I hear him make a deep sound like the most wonderful idea just popped into his mind. Next thing I know, his hand goes to the back of my head, fisting my hair so hard that the roots begin to hurt.

I stop, but the very next second, I feel Set taking control, pushing himself further inside my mouth until he's almost touching the back of my throat.

Tears instantly run down my face, and I feel like gagging, but his fingers clench harder on my hair, tilting my head a little backward so I can meet his gaze. “Tsk, tsk,” he warns, pushing himself again into the same spot that threatens to make me vomit.

My body is convulsing as I try not to throw up. But I can see it in his eyes—that's exactly what he wants. He’s trying to push me over my limit.

He thrusts relentlessly until my mascara knots under my chin, and my head begins shaking as a no, so he would stop. He only pauses when I start to tremble, and I feel like I can't even breathe when he bends a little and grabs the interior of my thigh to lift my legs up on the couch.“Open them.” I hear him groan, but I'm so confused that I can't even do what he says. I guess multitasking isn't my thing right now.

Ripping the towel off of me, he pushes his hand between my thighs. “Behave, and open your legs,” he warns me this time, and my feet slide across the couch as they struggle to follow the simplest commands.

I hear him grunt, fully gripping my hair again, and pushing himself inside my mouth until his piercings hit the back of my throat. My palms press against his legs, but he remains unyielding, just pushes himself deeper until my cries are muffled by his cock.

“Don't quit on me now, Ya’amar. You're doing such a good job, beautiful.”

What is he even talking about?

But I find the answer to that question the second his hand slides my panties aside, fingers grazing my bare pussy. I know what he's talking about—I got off on it. I'm turned on by the pain and his complete control over me, leaving me no choice but to surrender to him.

“Fuck, so wet. So fucking perfect.” I hear him praising me at the same time I realize my clit is so sensitive that I can barely have him touch it. I can't understand how this even happened, but I don’t even get the chance to before two of his fingers slip inside of me and start to pump with the same intensity he's fucking my mouth. He’s using me like his toy, and while part of me wants to resist him, I can't. It's not because I can't physically push him away; it's because I'm enjoying it far too much. At this point, I don't even know whether I want to fight him or the sensations he awakens within me.

His fingers go in and out, rubbing on my nub, then curving inside my walls as his thrusts slow down in momentum, his length still pressed against my fucking tonsils. I never felt so exposed and such a lack of control—not even on the day he brought me in after we tried to escape him.

I don't know how he does it; even if he's usually cheap on his words, he knows exactly what he has to say to push me over my limit.“Slow,” he whispers, digging his fingers inside of me as if feeling the electric pleasure gathering inside my core. “Don't move.” He stills my body, so I can pay attention to what he has to say. “I am the one in control. I will always be. But at the same time, I'm the only one ever to control you.” He resumes his movements, and my pussy throbs, letting me know how much she missed his fingers, even if they only paused for a second. My feet instantly dig into the couch, taken by surprise by that familiar feeling—I'm going to come soon.

“You were amazing today,” he snarls, pumping as if his legs are going to fail him soon. But the gagging sensation comes back as soon as I hear him. He didn't tell me I was amazing for the pleasure I gave him. He's praising me for killing that man.

He wants me to become just like him!

I want to get up and leave this second, but my pussy betrays me. I suddenly feel it starting to clench around his fingers as his cock also thrusts a couple more times, and his hot cum spills inside my mouth.

I want to draw my head back, but he keeps me there, his fingers still grinding on my clit.

“Taste me,” he orders, slowly slipping from my mouth, drawing his hand underneath my chin to close my lips. I cry out, trying to swallow but the strongest wave of ecstasy flushes through me, and I feel myself drenching his hand.

The cumulus of sensations ripping through me makes me fight for oxygen, especially since his damn fingers haven't stopped moving.His hand is still under my chin when I see him kneeling in front of the couch so that his face is right in front of mine. He's still keeping my mouth shut so I can swallow, and fighting back the gagging sensation, I manage to do that.

Instantly his fingers lose their pace until I can finally take a full breath of air.But he only gives me a second to breathe before his lips claim mine with untamed force. I don't need him to use words to tell me what he's feeling. He wants so much more than this, and his hands tangling in my hair make our teeth grind while we kiss, making me realize I also want more.

But that doesn't make it right. “What are you doing to me?” I quiver the second he breaks the union of our lips.

And he doesn't wait to answer. “Everything,” he says, his thumb trailing over my swollen lips while he looks at me like I'm his fucking lost treasure.

“This isn't me,” I say between tears. I could never be so close to insanity that I would fall for a psycho.

“Maybe it's time to stop lying to yourself. This is you.” His eyes peer into mine, trying to put words inside my head.

But they're not true. Are they?

The thought scares me far more than Set ever could, and a cold chill runs down my spine just letting my mind drift that way.

My body instantly curves into a ball, grabbing the towel to use as a blanket.

“Ya’amar...,” Set tries to reason with me, but the second I see his hand coming to stroke my cheek, I push it away.

“Don't—Don't touch me!” I scream, burying myself deeper into the couch.

I barely dare to look at him. His eyes are pitch black again, and his jaw tenses like his teeth are about to break. He stares me down for a second like I am betraying him all over again. Anger rushes through him, and I see him standing with fists clenched in front of me. I don't even know when he zipped up, but I do know I fucked up. Still, that doesn't mean I'm going back on it, and even if I wanted to, he never gives me that chance. The very next second, he just storms out the door, slamming it behind him.