Page 48 of Art of Sin

“Gideon wants to watch us have sex.”

I’m shocked the words survive my mouth, that they come out clear and strong. There’s also a small part of me surprised I’m not immediately consumed by hellfire. But that feeling is old and stale, easily ignored, and has been proven a lie a thousand times over. No matter that Gideon truly believes himself a sinner—or that my mother’s dogma persists somewhere inside me—I’ve seen true sin. This is not it.

Finn coughs out a laugh, then takes a long swig of his beer. “I’m… flattered?”

“You don’t want to?”

Again, the words come from some otherplace. A different me. A dark dancer who spins and glides past all my shoulds and shouldn’ts. She isn’t familiar, and yet, she is achingly so.

The look on Finn’s face—half surprised, half feral—gives me all the answer I need. Satisfaction warms my chest. Brings the barest smile to my lips. It feels goodto be wanted without complication or obligation. It feels… freeing.

“This has to be the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” he says at length.

The tension breaks. We laugh.

“Me too,” I admit, grabbing my purse from my car and locking it. I glance toward the house. “Sorry I dropped that on you. I needed someone to share the burden. Fucking Gideon and his verbal bombs.”

Finn grins. I’m distracted by the appearance of dimples.

“I’m not sorry at all. And isn’t it me you’re supposed to be fucking? Gideon’s just watching, the freak.”

Astonishingly, I giggle, which makes Finn laugh, and we’re still laughing as we walk up the driveway toward the open front door, where light and Gideon beckon.

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