Page 50 of The Sin Binder's Vow

I close my eyes and let the bond fill withmythoughts—tangled sheets, her wrists pinned above her head, her whispering my name like shemeansit. Her begging.

I feel her breath hitch against my chest.

Then I twist the proverbial knife.

But you wouldn’t last five minutes,I say through the bond, voice silken with sin.You’d be making those pretty little whimpers you try to hide, and I wouldn’t stop until you forgot your name.

She stiffens. Just a little. Then—

Arrogant,she shoots back.

Correct,I say.

I feel herlaugh—not out loud, but in the bond. It's a pulse of bright heat, a ripple through the thread that connects us. She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop. If anything, she leans in closer, her breath brushing my throat now.

Gods, I want her.

But I won’t let her win. Not yet. So I dig deeper. Send her a thought so vivid, socrude, it makes her jerk against me in shock. Then I grin into the darkness.

That’s what I thought,I murmur silently.

I shift, barely, and she feels it. The press of my hips against her backside is deliberate—no apologies, no subtlety. Just enoughfor her to understand exactly what kind of hell she’s dragging me through.

This is your fault,I send through the bond, my thoughts rough around the edges, almost a growl.

And gods, the sound she makes in return—voiceless, caught in her throat, and fed through the thread that ties us together—is enough to punch the air from my lungs.

A moan, barely contained, andonly for me.

I bite my bottom lip to stop the sound clawing up my own throat. Because it’s her. It’s always her. The way she fits against me like she was carved to be here. Like the universe spent millennia sculpting the curve of her spine just to match the shape of my palm.

Say it,I dare her silently.Admit you want more.

She doesn’t. Not with words. But her hips shift just slightly back into mine, that soft, infuriating roll that sends my thoughts scattering like ash in a windstorm.

I stifle a groan.

You trying to kill me, sweetheart?

Her response? A pulse of amusement, wicked and feminine, laced with heat so thick it coats the back of my throat. She’s smug. Smug and soft and smirking in the dark like she didn’t just wake the beast sleeping in my chest.

Fine. I wrap one arm low around her waist, dragging her tighter against me, and let her feel just how not-okay I am.

Now sleep,I whisper through the bond, because I know she won’t. She’ll stay awake just to torture me more.Or I’ll start describing exactly what I’d do to you if we weren’t surrounded by people.

And that’s not a bluff.

Not even close.

“Psst.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be deaf.He’ll stop. He has to stop. Right?

“Pssssst.”

He doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t. It’s Elias. The man has made it his life’s mission to crawl directly into my grave, whispering obscenities as he goes.

“What?” I hiss, voice low and full of venom becauseI was comfortable. I had her. Warm, soft, pressed so tight against me I could map the curve of her spine in my dreams. Now I’ve got cold air licking across my chest and a very smug Elias blinking up at me from the floorboards like some cursed woodland creature.

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