Page 60 of Second Sin

But staring back at me is a mirror of my own need.

I’m already hard—thick and straining—and the way she’s looking at me, like I could undo her with just one touch, only makes it worse. Makes me want to slam the brakes and hit the gas at the same time.

She looks at me like I’m not the emotionally stunted bastard that I am.

And I know that’s the most dangerous part.

Not the wanting.

It's the way she sees me. Like I’m not the grenade waiting to go off.Like I could be more than the damage I’ve done.

Like I might be worth keeping.

And fuck me?—

I want to be that man for her.

CHAPTER 22

OLIVIA

Sebastian's gaze is locked on mine.

Dark. Searching. Still full of that storm that's always raging—only now, there’s no shield. No retreat. Just heat and hesitation, tangled tight behind his eyes like he’s waiting for one final reason to pull away.

I give him none.

I know I should care more than I do. About my job. The fallout. The line I’m about to cross.

But nothing about this feels wrong.

Not when he looks at me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to the edge of the cliff he’s been clinging to.

And not when every part of me is already falling.

“I want this,” I say quietly. No stammer. No shame. Just truth. “I wantyou.”

Something shifts in him.

Not all at once. Not loud or obvious. But Ifeelit—like gravity changing directions, like the air thickens with something hot and irreversible. His breath catches. His jaw flexes.Then his hands are on me. My waist. My back. My jaw. He leans in, and the kiss that finds me isn’t sweet.

It’s wrecked.

Starved and messy and everything we’ve been trying to avoid.

He reachesfor the hem of his hoodie. Pulls it off in one clean motion.

The sight of him—bare skin, lean muscle, the sharp tension still etched in every line of his body—makes something deep in me tighten. I move into him on instinct, my hands splaying across his chest, fingers dragging across skin that’s warm and alive and trembling just slightly under my touch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing both my wrists and pinning them gently to his chest. “You’re killing me, Olivia.”

“You’ll recover.” A small smile tugs at my lips, his eyes just go darker with need.

I brush my mouth over his collarbone, tasting his skin.

His hands tremble, then slide to my waist, pulling me against him. There’s no mistaking the way his body responds—hot and thick against my stomach, straining through his jeans.

My fingers knot in his hair as his mouth claims mine again, all heat and scrape and hunger. He walks me backward, one slow step at a time, until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the hotel bed.

---