Page 29 of Make Me A Sinner
Is that… freshly cut strawberries?Giving myself a mental nudge, I get off the couch, raking my fingers through my hair as I head straight to the kitchen.
Coffee’s waiting for me, along with some yogurt drizzled with honey, fresh fruit, and oatmeal, while Set looks busy prepping a smoothie. I think it's strawberry. I usually don’t drink smoothies—thanks to Nick’s puke-colored, puke-flavored disasters—but this one actually looks promising.
He doesn't tell me to eat this time. I just go ahead and dig into the bowl that I assume is for me, while he finishes our smoothies. And I swear it’s the most delicious stuff I've ever tasted in my life.
"We're going to the gym today," he announces, and even if I'm not really in the mood for the gym, I think working out would do me good, help me take my mind off things and feel slightly normal.
Truth is, I'm fantasizing about a different kind of workout, but I know it’d only end up with him edging me again. I don't think I could survive another day like that.
As soon as we finish breakfast, we go change.
I want to dress myself, but he refuses. He even picked out my clothes, and he’s thought of everything—from the scrunchie for my hair to the pair of panties he’s holding in his hands.
And since I'm wearing none, he only needs to slide them on. He crouches low so I can step into them. Pulling the material up my thighs, hecarefullyadjusts them between my legs, then gives one asscheek a soft slap, like he just couldn't help himself.
Is it bad that I want to jump him?I wonder, watching his breath hitch as he's dressing me. This is torture for him too, but he seems to enjoy it—to thrive on every moment he manages to prolong things—like he's running in a competition with himself, one he is determined to win.
It's not the same for me. For me, it feels like it’s tearing me apart from inside out, especially since it keeps forcing me to confront how badly my body craves him—so bad that my mind is beginning to accept him. Maybe he's a killer, but I’m starting to think he might also be my destiny. I always blame it on the lack of sex. But there’s a part of me that knows that might be the reality.
Still, I'm not going to crawl at his feet like he probably wants me to. I'm not that weak to humiliate myself over a cock—an astonishing, out of this world pierced cock.
He finishes getting me dressed, then takes the scrunchie, raising my hair to the top of my head and catching it in a ponytail. It’s such a simple gesture, but I have to admit it's the hottest thing anyone’s ever done for me. He even makes sure every strand is perfectly in place as he looks at me in the mirror. "You're mine, and I take care of everything that's mine."
I can't even begin to explain the number of things that started going wrong in my body with that sentence. My heart, my pussy, even my fucking mind, all surrendering to him.
We make our way down to one of the hotel's premium gyms. There's a gym in the penthouse too, but as Set explained, it's most geared toward men for now, with mostly weights and just a treadmill.
Wow, that's one thing he didn't think through. Something I'm sure he'll fix by tomorrow—as he says himself.
Honestly, I like working out sometimes. And the premium gym is as welcoming as it gets. The place even has a VIP area where we’ll train. Well, Set will train, I'm just going to kill time tugging at some machines, since my knee’s not strong enough to force it.
I watch him closely. He’s meticulous about everything. He even comes and adjusts the weights on a machine I'm using, carefully making sure my body’s in the right position. And when I say carefully, I mean it. One of his hands keeps pressing on my stomach while the other one straightens my back, so I don't pull a muscle. With him touching and manipulating my body it takes all my willpower to keep myself focused on working out and nothing else. But as soon as he considers me ready to work on the machine, he goes back to his side of the gym, and I notice he’s holding a jump rope.
I think it's his warm-up. I just find it hilarious that he plans on jumping rope. Isn't that like a little girl's game? I know guys do it while training in the gym, it just never struck me like something he’d do.
But the second he puts those muscles to use, I completely understand. Fuuuuuck... I can't even explain it, the way those muscles tense with every jump, tighter each time, starting to shimmer from the effort. God, I wish he were shirtless. Actually,no, I don't, because if he were, I’d probably break all pride and ask him to take me. Right here on the machines.
I don't know how long I've been daydreaming, but my mouth is full of my own saliva by the time I get back to my senses, and I'm still moving on the machine, but I have no idea what the count is.
I'm sure he does it especially to tease me. I'm starting to think everything he does is to tease me—or maybe I'm just paranoid and in serious need of help.
And yeah, he realizes I need help—just not the kind that comes with a therapist. I'm pulling at some weights, apparently doing it so wrong that he has to step in again and correct my form. He comes in behind me, guiding my legs apart and tilting my torso forward as I grip the handle, making the weights clank with each slow, shaky rep.
"You're so arched, you're going to snap your back," he says, pressing his chest against my back until he adjusts me into the right position. His legs aligning with mine, his damn cock is practically searing against my ass. "Like this," he whispers, placing his hand over mine and guiding the weights back. My body tenses from the movement, and so does his. Every single inch of him tightens as he pulls the cable a couple of times. I can feel him grinding against my ass with each rep. Oh, this is my punishment, and I could scream from the frustration. Especially now since I've become a masochist—because I want him to stop. If he doesn't soon, there’s a good chance I’ll come just from the friction. And to top it all off, his hand trails down my spine as he whispers "good girl" right before he straightens with a motion that makes my insides shiver, then leaves to work on one of the other machines.
This isn't a day at the gym. This is a day in a hell he built especially for me, and my ovaries start aching almost as much as they did that night.
At least I didn't think about what happened in that warehouse at all, like he completely manages to wipe any bad memory away when he's around.
We spend about two hours in the gym, where I alternate between staring at him and begging my body not to turn on me again.
No man’s ever had this kind of power over me. In fact, sex never had any kind of power over me—probably because I only had mediocre sex until I met him.
But now, even if I don't really belong to him, my pussy sure as hell does.
I dread going back to the apartment, mostly because I know he’ll take me to have a shower. Not that I don’t usually shower after the gym, but he makes me shower with him. He's like the cleanest man I know. Strange for someone who likes to bathe in rivers of blood.
We grab lunch from a restaurant on our way up, and I don't even bother to find an excuse to avoid him. I just head straight to the shower, where he joins me.
