Page 72 of Capturing Sin

His lips twitched in that cruel way of his. “If you don’t get yourself into this outfit, poison, I’ll be doing it for you.”

The thought of him dressing me, his hands all over my bare skin again, had me blushing and spitting mad in equal measure.

My upper lip curled. “I’d rather feed a hundred blood demons than have you touch me again.”

Thunder clouded his expression, transforming with a deep well of rage he usually hid better than this.

Sin leaned down, pressing his spiked hands into the bed on either side of me, caging me in with his strength and every sharp point jutting from him. His face drew level with mine.

An intensity sparked in his eyes. “You. Are. Mine. Nobody else will know the taste of you.”

Of course the only possessive man in my life was a demon after my blood.

“Fine.” I snatched at the material trapped under his hand and he let me take it with an indulgent smirk. “But get out. I need to shower off all your disgusting juices first, and I’m not putting on a show for a demon.”

“No?” He chuckled. “Yet you’ll still scream for one like a good girl.”

He caught my fist before I even knew I’d thrown a punch, and dropped it with a cluck of his forked tongue.

“You can shower, poison, but I know you’ll be dripping my cum all night,” he purred, flashing me a victorious grin.

Taking his sweet time, he finally trailed out. His heart tail waved almost sarcastically as he left me with my rage and the scrap of material.

With a huff, I ditched my torn dress and eyed the skimpy fabric like it might sprout fangs and take a bite. I made quick work of showering in the en suite, a pang of envy hitting me as I borrowed someone’s fancy shampoo and matching conditioner. Some snooty French brand I definitely couldn’t pronounce.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually conditioned my hair. The cheapest two-in-one combo had been ruining my hair for years now. It was the little luxuries you had to sacrifice if you wanted your own apartment and food.

Of course, if I’d moved back in with my uncle, he’d have given me all the meals and comfort I wanted.

Until he didn’t.

Shoving down the urge to hug myself and sob in the shower like the broken creature I was, I quickly got out, drying off with the fluffiest towel I’d ever used and blowing out my pin-straight hair.

I glared at the outfit Sin had given me. It was the rich crimson of blood from a fatal wound, seeming to mock both my value to the demon and my dreams of safety.

A matching lace thong lurked in the bag he’d discarded at the foot of the bed.

Instead of chucking the whole thing out of the window, I took a calming breath and slipped it on.

A complex system of straps and lace made up the outfit, and it took several minutes of shimmying before I stepped to the mirrored wardrobe for inspection.

A familiar purple-green smudged above my cheek. Oddly, the bruising gave me a heady sense of relief. My uncle had taken his frustrations out on my face, but it might have been the last time. It had only been two days ago, yet it already felt like a lifetime.

My attention dropped to what I was wearing.

It barely reached the tops of my thighs. The built-in cups pushed my tits up to give the illusion I had more curves than I really did. Thick straps crisscrossed over my slender body like I was dressed in luxurious ribbons, with lace panels helping cover the gaps and obscuring most of the jagged lines scarring me. The dress made the delicate orange tiger-lily tattoo on my wrist pop even more.

“Sin!” I snarled, rage flooding my veins and overriding any embarrassment I might have felt.

He sauntered into the room, a cocky smirk already loaded.

A weak part of me took notice of the way his white tattoos graced the carved muscles of his bare chest and arms like art. How black slacks slung indecently low on his hips so his tail could poke out and a pair of matching dress shoes gave him the air of a sexy mafioso. He must have showered too, because his hair had turned silver with the dampness clinging to it, making his ivory horns look even taller.

His eyes devoured me right back, taking in every inch of my body revealed by the joke of an outfit.

The bastard had dressed me in blood-coloured lingerie. The damn thing was tight-fitting and see-through enough to leave zero to the imagination.

I’d have felt less exposed naked.

---