20. His Sinner
Chapter twenty
His Sinner
I lie here, curled up in his hoodie, the fabric soft and worn against my skin, and all I can think about is him. The way he looked at me tonight—God, he’s even more handsome than I remembered, and that’s saying something.
I always knew Dominic was attractive in a way that was dangerous, the kind of man you don’t bring home, the kind that leaves you ruined and marked.
But now? He’s something else entirely, the kind of dangerous that makes you forget every warning sign, every single reason you should run the other way. He’s the type that gets under your skin, that digs deep and doesn’t let go until he’s sucked every ounce of control out of you, leaving you raw and exposed.
And the worst part is, I crave it. I crave the feeling of him consuming me, taking over every inch of my mind, leaving nothing but his name echoing in my head. It’s twisted and reckless, but it’s there, a hunger I can’t shake, one that’s been building since the moment he slipped back into my life. Hell, even before then.
My fingers curl around the edge of his hoodie, pulling it tighter around me, feeling that familiar, rough fabric against my skin, and all I can think about is him.
His hands come to mind, rough, callused—hands that have seen their share of work and hardship. They’re hands that could bruise, that could hold you too tightly, hands that would leave marks you’d remember for days.
I want to know what they feel like when he isn’t holding back, when he isn’t just brushing his fingers over my cheek like I’m something fragile.
That scar on his lip… it wasn’t there before. I don’t know what put it there, what kind of hell he’s been through, but it only makes him look more dangerous, more untouchable. And yet, he stood right in front of me tonight, close enough to touch, looking at me like I was the only thing in the room.
The memory of that look alone is enough to make my pulse quicken, a heat sparking low in my belly that I can’t ignore. God, I should be terrified. I should be shaking, keeping every damn door locked. But instead, I’m here, flushed and restless, because some part of me craves this. Craves him.
The tattoos on his arms, dark and intricate. They only make him more intense, more magnetic, like he’s wrapped himself in ink and shadows, guarding parts of himself he won’t let anyone touch. Parts I want to know, pieces I want to see for myself, even if it means crossing a line I shouldn’t.
I want to trace them, feel each line beneath my fingertips, feel that pulse under his skin, feel what it would be like to have his warmth pressed up against me, close enough to make me forget everything outside of him.
A flush rises in my cheeks, warmth spreading through me as my mind drifts, lingering on the way he felt so close, the way his eyes held me captive, like he was daring me to push him away, daring me to see him for what he is and still want him.
And damn it, I do. I want him in a way that feels reckless, in a way that sends a thrill through me, heat pooling low in my belly, making me restless, needy, caught up in memories and fantasies that I know won’t go anywhere good.
But I can’t stop. I don’t want to.
I slip my hand in between my thighs and gasp when I feel how wet I am. Swirling my fingers over my sensitive clit, I arch my back from the bed and think of the one person I shouldn’t… not with this ring on my finger.
I think about his rough hands on me, how it would feel if he slipped his hand around my throat and squeezed until I nearly lose consciousness. How it would feel with him on top of me, fucking me hard and making me scream his name.
“Dominic…” I moan, coming so hard that white spots are dancing in front of my eyes. I can almost smell his scent, feel him as if he were here with me.
But as I come down from my high, my mind flashes to Mason and I feel sick to my stomach.