Chapter Twelve
ELIZABETH
His jaw flexes, a muscle ticking, like he’s holding something back.
When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, dangerous. “Because I’ve had shit to handle. And because if I let myself get too close to you, I won’t be able to stop. And that’s a line I told myself I wouldn’t cross.”
“What line?” I push.
His eyes ignite, hunger darkening them to something feral. “The one that keeps you safe from me. From the way I want you.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be safe from you.”
The air charges, heavy with lust. His breathing changes, deeper, controlled like he’s holding himself back by sheer will alone. His hand lands on the mattress by my thigh, his heat rolling into me.
“Seeing you out there today…” he growls, “… knowing you could’ve been taken from me in a blink. It fucked with my head. It made me realize something… I don’t want distance between us. Not anymore.”
“Then don’t,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
His hand cups my face, his thumb dragging across my lower lip like he owns it. His gaze pins me, hard, unrelenting. “You sure about this, wildcat? Because once I start, there’s no stopping. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”
I don’t bother with words. Rushing forward, I crush my mouth to his, and the kiss detonates, raw and violent in its intensity, all this tension and denial combusting at once.
His tongue claims mine, dominating, tasting, devouring.
I moan into him, fisting his shirt to pull him closer. I’m desperate.
He snarls against my mouth, then lifts me effortlessly, settling me astride his thighs. His cock strains against his jeans, pressing hot and hard against me, and the friction rips a gasp from my lips.
“Fuck, Elizabeth,” he groans into my throat, biting at the tender skin before licking the sting away. “You drive me out of my goddamn mind. I want to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”
Heat floods me, liquid and desperate, as I grind down against him. His grip clamps tight on my hips, guiding me, forcing me to take what I need as we dry hump on the bed.
“That’s it,” he rasps, breath hot against my collarbone. “Grind on me, baby. Show me how bad you want it. Because I promise you, I want it worse.”
His hands slide under my T-shirt, palms searing against my skin as they map the curve of my ribs, my waist. When his thumbs graze the underside of my breasts, I arch into his touch with a needy whimper.
“Please,” I breathe, not even sure what I’m begging for.
But Sin knows. His hands close around my breasts, rough palms and calloused thumbs teasing my nipples through the thin lace of my bra. Heat explodes through me, and I grind harder against him, desperate.
God, what am I doing? The thought cuts through the haze, sharp and accusing.
This is the man who might have been there when Marcus died.
The man who is tied to everything that destroyed my brother.
And here I am, letting him touch me, wanting him to touch me.
I should shove him away, claw back my dignity, cling to the memory of my brother like it’s a lifeline.
But when Sin growls, “Fuck, look at you. So needy for me. So fucking perfect,” the guilt tangles with a darker truth.
I don’t want him to stop.
He picks me up with such power and then throws me back onto the mattress.
I gasp as he leans down, pressing me back onto the bed, covering me with his weight.
The solid bulk of him makes me feel small, trapped, and wanted all at once.
His mouth crashes against mine, the kiss rough and consuming, stealing every argument from my lips until there’s nothing left but need.
His hand drags down my body, over my stomach, stopping at the waistband of my yoga pants. His eyes catch mine, hard and demanding.
“You want my hand in your panties, wildcat? You ready to let me feel how wet you are for me?”
My body screams yes, but somewhere inside me, Marcus’s face flickers like a ghost.
I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t want this.
Yet my voice betrays me, breathless and desperate.
“Yes… please, yes!”
His smirk is pure sin. His hand slips beneath the fabric, fingers sliding through my slick folds. I cry out, my hips jerking into his touch.
“Christ,” he groans. “So fucking wet. You’re drenching me, Elizabeth. This pussy was made for me.”
Shame curls in my chest, but it’s crushed under the weight of pleasure. My brother is dead, and maybe I’m spitting on his memory by letting this man have me. But Marcus isn’t here, and I am. And right now, all I want is Sin.
His fingers work me mercilessly, coaxing every sound from my throat, building me higher and higher until I’m trembling. Just when I’m about to shatter, he pulls away, leaving me wrecked and whimpering.
“Not yet,” he rasps, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You don’t come until I’ve got my mouth on you. I need to taste what’s mine.”
The words should horrify me. Instead, they ignite me. He kisses his way down my body, branding me with lips and teeth. When he reaches the hem of my shirt, he glances up, eyes burning.
“Off,” he orders.
I lift my arms, the guilt a steady drumbeat in the back of my skull.
Marcus would hate me for this. But Sin’s mouth scorches its way down my skin as he peels the shirt away, and the guilt dissolves in a wave of fire.
Then he grabs the hem of my yoga pants and panties at the same time and slides them off me so slowly, it makes my breathing quicken.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, voice raw. “So, fucking beautiful I could lose myself right here.”
I arch into him, torn between shame and want, grief and hunger. Maybe I am betraying my brother’s memory. Maybe I’m betraying myself. But as Sin’s mouth closes around my breast, tongue circling and sucking until I cry out, I know one truth I can’t escape.
I can’t stop.
I don’t want to stop.
“Spread those legs for me, wildcat,” he orders, voice rough velvet. “I want every inch of you open for my mouth.”
The command rolls through me like thunder, and I obey, trembling with anticipation. He settles between my thighs, the heat of his breath glimmers over my slick flesh.
The first stroke of his tongue is devastating. I cry out, my hips jerking upward, instinctively chasing more.
“Easy, baby,” he growls, gripping my thighs tightly, his fingers digging bruises into my skin. “I said, let me take care of you. You ride my tongue when I tell you, not before.”
His mouth returns to me, punishing and worshiping all at once. He devours me like a man starving, every stroke of his tongue deliberate, every flick designed to unravel me.
“Fuck, Elizabeth,” he murmurs against me, voice vibrating through my core. “This pussy tastes like heaven and sin wrapped together. You’re gonna drown me before I’m done with you.”
The words drag me closer to the edge, my body taut with need, my fists clutching the sheets until my knuckles ache.
Marcus would hate me for this.
He’d call me a traitor for letting my body answer to the man who might have ended him.
The thought slashes through me, but it’s useless—lust is winning, drowning all these thoughts out.
“Please,” I gasp, my body writhing beneath his hold. “Please, Sin, I need…”
His tongue swirls over me with maddening precision, his voice a growl of authority. “I know what you need, wildcat. When you come, you come only for me from now on, Elizabeth. Say it. Say that I own your pussy.”
“I-I…” My voice breaks, shame burning at the back of my throat even as fire roars low in my belly. “You own my pussy.”
“Good girl,” he rasps, and then he devours me in earnest. His tongue lashes me, sucking me into his mouth with ruthless skill. The vibration of his growl against me is my undoing.
I break with a cry, my body convulsing as pleasure rips through me like wildfire. I shatter, screaming his name, my vision blurring, tears spilling from the sheer intensity mixed with undeniable guilt.
But he doesn’t let up, dragging me higher, wringing me out until I’m gasping, begging, raw.
When I collapse back against the mattress, spent and trembling, he moves up my body with slow, claiming kisses.
My skin feels scorched everywhere his mouth lands.
Panting furiously, trying to catch my breath, I risk looking down at him.
“That… was…” I try, but the words dissolve into breathless nonsense.
Desire floods me again, but before I can cling to him, he’s ripping himself away, his heat vanishing so suddenly it feels like a slap.
He surges to his feet, pacing a few steps like a caged animal, dragging both hands through his disheveled hair.
His chest heaves, muscles bunched tight, every line of him carved with tension.
The sudden loss makes me whimper, my body aching, desperate for more. “What’s wro—”
“I should go.” The words come out harsh, guttural, like they’ve been torn from his throat.
He won’t look at me.
His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white, and the storm in him is raging so fiercely it rattles the air between us.
My chest twists painfully. “Sin, talk to m-me?” My voice cracks with hurt, my arms instinctively wrapping around my torso as if I can shield myself from the hollow ache he leaves behind.
He spins toward the door, jaw locked, eyes flashing with a heat that’s equal parts hunger and fury.
“Get some rest, Elizabeth. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.
” His tone offers no argument, final and brutal.
Then he yanks the door open and storms out, the slam reverberating through the walls, leaving me naked, shaking, and gutted.
The silence crashes into me harder than my orgasm did. My pulse is erratic, my thighs trembling, my skin still damp with sweat. My lips are swollen from his kiss, my body humming.
But inside…
… inside I feel fractured.
I stare at the door, stunned, my hands shaking violently as I clutch the sheets to my chest. My breathing comes fast and uneven, like I’ve just run a race and lost at the finish line.
The room feels colder without him, and I can’t make sense of how quickly the heat of his mouth, his hands, his body, all of him was ripped away.
Marcus, I’m so, so sorry.
The thought claws at me.
I’m sorry I let him touch me.
Sorry, I let myself want the man who might have been your end.
Tears sting, but they don’t fall. My body still aches, my clit throbbing with need, and that betrays me worse than anything.
Because beneath the guilt, deeper than grief, is the undeniable truth…
I don’t regret it.
Not one second.
I ache for Sin, body and soul.
And wanting him feels like the worst kind of sin.
I stare at the closed door for a long moment, my mind reeling. What the hell just happened? One minute he was worshiping my body, making me come apart in his hands, and the next he was running like his ass was on fire.
Sliding under the sheets, I figure I may as well try to get some sleep, but it is impossible after that. I toss and turn for what feels like hours, replaying every moment, every touch, every word. Finally, I give up and pull on Gia’s clothes, padding out into the main area of the clubhouse.
Most of the lights are off, and the space is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. I make my way to the bar, hoping maybe a drink will help quiet my racing thoughts.
Ro is here, wiping down glasses, her movements efficient even in the dim light. She looks up as I approach, taking in my disheveled appearance with knowing eyes. Without a word, she reaches for a bottle of tequila and pours a generous shot, sliding it across the bar to me.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I need this.”
Ro sighs, leaning against the bar with a sympathetic expression. “He likes you. I can tell, he’s just being a stubborn ass about it, Lizzie. If you like him back, give it time. He’ll come around.”
I down the shot, welcoming the burn as it slides down my throat. It doesn’t help with the ache in my chest, but it’s something.
“In the meantime,” Ro continues, grabbing a bottle of something that looks strong from behind the bar. “I’ve gotta go. Mace is waiting for me, and I do not want him to fall asleep on me, because let me tell you, that guy can fuuuck.”
I snort out a laugh, almost spitting out the second shot I’ve poured myself. “Have fun!”
Ro grins, waggling her eyebrows at me. “Oh, trust me, it’s not fun… it’s a fucking thrill ride. If Sin pisses you off, I highly recommend Mace as an alternate.” She rushes off with a wicked grin, leaving me giggling despite my confusion.
I pour myself another shot, then another, trying to numb the conflicted feelings churning in my chest. The tequila helps a little, warming me from the inside and dulling the sharp edges of my confusion.
Eventually, I decide I should probably try to get some sleep.
I slide off the barstool, grateful that the alcohol has made me feel less raw, less exposed.
I’m walking back toward my room when a figure emerges from the shadows, making me jump with a small scream.
“Jesus H. Christ!” I gasp, reaching for my chest.
“Sorry, Elizabeth,” Ghost says with a smirk that suggests he’s not sorry at all. “Just heading in to do some work. Have a good night.”
“No wonder they call you Ghost,” I grumble, patting his arm as we reach his door. “You’re a fucking stealthy ninja. Good night.”
I continue toward my room, but something makes me glance back. Ghost is entering a code into a keypad beside his door, his fingers moving quickly over the numbers. But my instincts kick in, and before I can stop myself, I’m watching, memorizing.
Six digits. 5-2-7-8-9-1.
He disappears into what is clearly a highly secured room, and I force myself to keep walking, guilt immediately washing over me. But I can’t shake the feeling that whatever Ghost keeps locked away might be exactly what I’m here to find.
Information about Marcus.
About what really happened to my brother.
I race back to my room and grab a pen off the desk, scribbling the numbers on a scrap of paper. My hands shake slightly as I slide it into the back of my phone case, hidden but accessible.
Then I crawl into bed and finally, finally, feel sleep pulling at me.
Tomorrow is definitely going to be a long day.