Page 39 of Never Die for a Sinner
Cocking my head to the side, I smile sweetly at him and hope he can see the hate flashing in my eyes.
“Whatever you say,Mr.Cross.”
His chin tips up, his gaze taunting. He thinks I won’t actually do it, which only spurs me on more.
Lifting the bottle to my lips, I gather some of the whiskey in my mouth, and the smooth burn coats the back of my throat, nearly making me choke.
God, how does he drink this?
Leaning forward, I press my lips to his, my stomach fluttering when I taste the whiskey on his lips from mine. Levi doesn’t move, his arms over the back of the chair like a damned God,while I, the poor girl obsessed with him, practically pant on his lap.
The liquor passes from my tongue to his, and with the barest touch, all my senses come alive.
Levi tastes like sin. Like warmth and darkness and everything mothers warn their daughters about, when he lazily slips his tongue against mine, capturing the liquid. Like he doesn’t need to. Like he’s doing it as a favor and not because he told me to.
It should turn me off. Unfortunately, it only makes me want him more.
Iwantto see his control slip. I want to hear my name in his brooding voice. I want tofeelthe effect I have on him, even if he’s too stubborn to admit there’s some part of him that wants me.
Armed with a light buzz from the lack of oxygen in the room and a whole lot of ambition found in my new mission, I lean back enough to break the contact and put the bottle back to my lips. This time, my pulse leaps when I lean back down, aligning my lips to his. Our tongues tangle and the whiskey passes between us, getting lost somewhere amongst the heavy pants that I’m not even sure are mine or his, at this point.
Everything sharpens to a point, coalescing directly between my legs until my clit throbs behind the lacy material of my panties.
I repeat the motion, and this time, something deep rumbles in his chest when the whiskey flows into his mouth. Something unhinged. Unintentional. Like he wants my taste so bad he can’t fucking stand it.
That makes two of us.
A breathless whimper leaves my lips when his hands finally leave the couch, his fingers hovering over my ribs as they slip up my sides, over the sides of my breasts, then along myshoulder blades. He’s barely touching me, but it brings about a desperation I hadn’t known I could feel.
I take another drink, and when I meet his lips with mine, something in him snaps. He grips the back of my head, forcing my lips against his and pulling me in deep with his tongue. He may as well be licking between my legs with the lust that slips through me.
His tongue tangles with mine, and I suck on the end of his, drawing out his sharp breath. His hands slip down to cup my ass over my jeans, his fingers tightening to a near-bruising strength as my arm wraps around the back of his neck.
He shifts and his erection brushes against my core, drawing out a moan as the friction brushes over the sensitive bundle of nerves, and Levi stops, his face inches from mine and his eyes dark as night.
Watching me with a calculating look in his eyes, he uses his hand on my ass to move my hips against his erection again, and this time, a shiver rolls through me, my blunt nails digging into the flesh at the back of his neck.
It all combines into a dizzying wave of euphoria I’m not sure I ever want to come back from.
Abruptly, he grips my chin, forcing my lips back with a rough growl, and I nearly topple off his lap. My heart hammers in my chest, beating out of tune, and my lips burn where he’d kissed me.
“Go to your room, Ava,” he says darkly. It’s a warning. One I’m not sure I even want to understand the meaning of.
The moment he releases me, reality rushes in, bringing with it all the self-doubt, the insecurity, and the shame that were easy to ignore with his lips on mine.
Shakily, I climb to my feet, and like the prudish good girl I am, I leave the room, not daring to glance back.
AVA
Hell hath no fury like Paulina when she sees a single speck of dust anywhere in Cross Estate. And today? She’s on the warpath.
“You must do better,” she scolds, her voice sharp enough to slice through glass as she shifts her gaze back and forth between me and the other, older housekeeper, Magdalene. Her tone is firm, disapproving, the kind of tone that makes grown men check their shoes for mud.
Magdalene bows her head with practiced calm. “Of course, ma’am. We’ll get right on it.”
I hover near the doorway, holding a tray of folded linen napkins and fighting the urge to roll my eyes. The Cross family may have money, but they’re not exactly aristocracy. Half the rooms in this place are just for show—more furniture than function. And Paulina treats each one like it’s a damn cathedral.
“Oh, leave them be, Paulina,” Bella Cross says breathlessly as she breezes into the kitchen.
