Page 42 of Betrayed By Sin
He strokes himself once, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving mine.
“You think I dropped to my knees just to taste you?” he rasps. “No, baby. I did it to remind you who the fuck you belong to.”
He wraps his hand lightly around my throat, tilting my face up. My lips part.
“I don’t fuck you to feel good, Magnolia. I fuck you to mark you. To make sure every part of you remembers me when I’m not there. When you sleep. When youbreathe.”
He thrusts inside of me in one brutal stroke, and I shatter all over again. I cry out, hands flying to his shoulders as he begins to move. Deep, rough, relentless. The table groans beneath us.
His grip on my hips is bruising, possessive.
“Who owns this pussy?” he snarls, driving into me harder, deeper, like he wants to live there.
“You do,” I gasp. “You do.”
He leans down, his forehead against mine, sweat-slick and raw.
“Say it again.”
“You own me.”
A groan tears from his throat, guttural and harsh, as he pounds into me with brutal precision. My name leaves his lips again and again like a curse. Like a prayer.
I cling to him as he sends me spiraling, over and over, until I’m crying and shaking and ruined in every possible way.
He grabs the back of my neck, tilts my head, and whispers, “I want you to still feel me. Even when you’re walking. Even when youhateme.”
I scream his name as I fall apart one final time, and then he follows, hips jerking, spilling into me with a broken sound like nothing else exists butus.
He stays there for a long time, chest heaving, forehead against mine.
Then his mouth brushes mine, tender now, slow. The kiss is different. Sweeter. But it’s stillhim. Sin in all his darkness and devotion.
“You’re not leaving me,” he whispers. “Not now. Not ever.”
And I don’t argue.
I can’t.
Because I’ve already given him everything.
When we break apart, both of us are breathless. The air between us is thick with something unspoken. I open my eyes to find him staring at me, his pupils dilated, chest rising and falling quickly.
“Stay,” he whispers, his voice low and rough.
“I want to,” I reply without thinking, my heart pounding in my chest. “I want to stay more than anything.”
I try to slip back into my dress, but its torn. Sin brings me a robe and we move to the living room, the space softer now, the tension between us still there, but quieter. The warmth of his hand on mine makes me feel safe, like I’m exactly where I need to be. We sit together on the couch, our legs brushing, the closeness between us so palpable it feels like an electric current.
But soon, the conversation falls quiet, and I find myself staring at him, tracing the harsh lines of his jaw, the way his lips curl when he smiles.
Sin leans back, his head resting against the arm of the couch, his eyes never leaving mine. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says softly, and the words hit me like a wave. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels like it is. Each time he speaks, it feels new.And each time, it makes me want him even more. “I’m sorry about your dress. You can grab whatever fromour room.”
“Thank you,” I whisper back, my fingers brushing over his hand. I feel like we’re dancing around something too big to name, and yet neither of us wants to stop.
I see past his careful façade, the way the whites of his eyes are red.
“You haven’t been sleeping,” I say softly, searching his face. “Have you?”
