Page 174 of The Sin Binder's Chains

“Don’t,” I blurt. “Gods, don’t.”

Her brows rise.

I swallow. “I mean, you look, really good. And also, I love you. That’s unrelated. But still important.”

She blinks. “You just said that.”

I nod. “I’ll probably say it again.”

“While I’m half-naked?”

“I mean... preferably.”

Luna shakes her head, a smile twisting into something darker. “You’re hopeless.”

“I’m in love,” I whisper, dramatic as hell. “Let me suffer.”

She kneels there, half-dressed, smug and sin incarnate, watching me unravel with zero fucking remorse. Like the sight of her in nothing but that ridiculous scrap of lace and those low-slung pants isn’t currently short-circuiting the last few functional neurons in my brain.

She tilts her head, lips parted just enough to be lethal. “You gonna keep staring, or…?”

“Or what?” I manage. “You gonna weaponize the rest of your clothes against me?”

That earns a smirk. Slow. Filthy. Then she reaches for the button on her pants.

I make a sound I will never repeat, and immediately start yanking at my shirt like it’s trying to kill me. My arms get tangled. I spin around halfway. One foot catches on a loose rock, because of course it fucking does, and I go down in the most undignified sprawl in the history of lust.

Flat on my ass. Shirt halfway over my head. Pants halfway unbuttoned. Dignity? Gone.

I hear her laugh before I see it. Low. Rough. Hot enough to melt stone.

“You good down there, Veyd?”

“Define good,” I mutter, ripping the shirt the rest of the way off and flinging it like it insulted me personally. “I’m naked and humbled. Is that good?”

She walks toward me. Slow. Lethal. Each step is the sound of my last remaining brain cells screaming.

“You’re still wearing pants,” she points out, like she’s offended.

“Trying, actually.” I scramble to undo the rest, kicking them off like they’re cursed. “But someone decided to flash her tits and ruin my whole motor function.”

She doesn’t answer. She just kneels. Straddles me. Her thighs come down on either side of my hips, and the second I feel the heat of her pressed against me, I lose every single plan I might’ve had.

Her hands plant on my chest, pushing me back into the dirt, and she looks down at me like she already owns me. Because she fucking does.

“You’re hopeless,” she murmurs.

“And hard,” I add. “Don’t forget hard.”

She rolls her hips once, once, and I groan so loud it echoes.

Her smile turns razor sharp. “Poor baby.”

I reach up, dragging my hands up her thighs, over her hips, and finally to the edge of that lace.

“Not for long,” I growl.

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