Page 81 of Second Sin

I take her hand and start walking. Long strides down the hall, past the dim kitchen and darkened living room, straight to the master.

“Where are we going?” she asks, half breathless.

“Shower,” I growl.

She huffs a laugh. “I was kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Her laughter softens into something else—something warm and intimate and a little wrecked.

“God, you’re serious,” she says, grinning now as I push open the bedroom door, and go straight to the bathroom.

I twist the shower knob, crank the heat. Steam billows almost immediately.

She’s still staring at me when I turn back. Her clothes are soaked. Jacket clinging, pants dark and dripping.

I step in, fully dressed, pulling her under the warm water with me.

She laughs. “Sebastian?—”

I grin down at her, my fingers go to her coat, peeling it back. Then the hem of her shirt. I pull it over her head slowly, letting my fingers trace her spine.

Her hands find my waist, shirt clinging to my skin as she helps me strip it off.

I unhook her bra. Let it fall.

She tugs at the drawstring of my sweats, knuckles grazing bare skin. I help, fingers brushing hers as I shove them down my hips, the fabric sliding easy over my thighs. She looks—really looks—and lets out a soft sound that curls heat low in my gut.

Fuck.

Her pants cling to every curve, soaked and stubborn where the fabric grips her thighs.

She peels them down slowly, hips shifting, body twisting in a way that makes me groan under my breath.

“Jesus,” I mutter, voice barely there.

She bites her bottom lip. “Little help?”

I kneel in front of her, hands firm on her hips. She steadies herself on my shoulders as I drag her pants down, inch by inch, reluctant to let go. Then shoes. socks.

My palms graze her skin—damp, warm, already rising in goosebumps.

I press a kiss to the soft skin just above her knee, another kiss to the inside of her thigh. Then higher. She whimper, andbraces one hand on the wall, the other curling tight in my hair.

Her body trembles, as I hook my fingers into the sides of her thong and slide it down.

I kiss the inside of her thigh again, lifting one leg and bracing it on my shoulder, thenlower my head and drag my tongue across her clit—slow, deliberate, teasing just enough to make her moan.

God, that sound.It goes straight to my cock.

She tastes like sin. Like surrender. Like something I’ll crave for the rest of my fucking life.

“Sebastian,” she gasps. Barely a word. More like a plea.

My tongue finds her again—licking, tasting, learning every way she falls apart.

I glance up once, and the look on her face fucking wrecks me—flushed, vulnerable, wanting.

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