Page 8 of Burned By Sin
Her breath catches against my jaw as I shift, her thighs still caged in my grip. She’s trembling, but she’s not pulling away. When I drag my knuckles up the inside of her leg, the little sound she makes nearly undoes me. I press my forehead to hers, our noses brushing, our breaths colliding, trying to get a grip on myself.
“Look at me,” I rasp. My voice is rough, a growl scraped from somewhere deeper than I’ve ever let anyone hear. Her eyes flutter open, wide and glassy.
I kiss her mouth like it’s the only thing keeping me alive, slow at first, then hungrier when she tilts her head to deepen it. Her fingerstangle in my hair and pull, a gasp breaking between us. I answer with a low, satisfied noise, dragging my lips down her throat, biting gently at the spot that makes her shiver.
“Tell me you want this,” I murmur against her skin. My thumb strokes circles over her hip, coaxing, teasing, feeling her arch into my touch.
“I want you, Rhys,” she whispers my name, gifting me her complete submission. The dark side of me thrums to life as if being stroked by her pleasure. We’ve needed this for weeks, this reconnection of what was served.
I know Harper regrets what she said about me that day, as if it's not the least I deserve. There's no better person to give me a reality check, because I don't give a shit what anyone else says or thinks about me. But still, I don't want or need her apology. Harper can show me how she feels through her soft touches and gentle moans. She can praise me with her tongue, licking my wounds clean and start healing me in a way only she can. Yeah, I've got it real bad for this one.
I move my mouth back up to hers, swallowing her next breath with a kiss that’s half-devotion, half-threat. My hand slips beneath the hem of her shirt to palm the soft curve of her waist, not rushing, but not gentle either. She shivers, clutching my shoulders as I press her down into the mattress, our bodies aligning until there’s no space left.
“Harper…” It comes out like a prayer I didn’t mean to say. Her skin is warm under my palms as I hook her knee higher and draw her closer until she’s flush against me. The heat of her body sears straight through me, making it impossible to think. “I don’t want to stop.” Her nails rake lightly across my back, driving me closer to the point of no return.
“Then don’t,” she whispers. For a heartbeat I hover there, breathing hard, watching her lips part in anticipation, the pulse at her throat hammering beneath my mouth. My fingers slide into her waistband, inch by inch, the tension between us coiling tighter. I don’t have the time to question why this feels so raw, why I feel so exposed. We’vefucked before, but this…this isn’t fucking. This is something else entirely.
The teeter I’ve been clinging to snaps. My mouth crashes onto hers, intent on devouring her whole whilst stripping her free of her clothes. Her receivers go too, because I can’t trust what is going to come out of my mouth. At least if only one of us hears it, I can pretend Harper doesn’t have me choking on the figurative leash she holds. Ever since the first time I had her in here, chained and bound to her every whim, the collar hasn’t really come off. It’s only gotten tighter.
She’s all heat and soft skin beneath me, arching into my touch like she’s been waiting for this. Waiting for me to show her how lonely I’ve been, trapped in a prison of my own making. My palm covers her breast through the lace of her bra, my thumb sweeping over the peak until she gasps against my lips.
“You drive me fucking insane,” I growl, kissing her harder, tasting her moan as her legs hook around my waist. I grind against her, rough and needy, and she answers by pulling me tighter, forcing my erection to press harder against her soaked panties. I can smell her lust, and it drives me freaking insane.
Dragging the fabric aside, I can’t help myself, can’t hold back anymore. Thrusting inside her, Harper cries out and writhes within the cage I create around her. Fuck, she feels incredible. Her pussy grips my cock, dragging against my piercings in the most delicious way. It takes concentrated effort to stop myself from exploding then and there, a shudder rolling through my spine. Burying my face against her neck, her nails imbed themselves into my back.
“Christ, Babygirl.” My hips jerk forward involuntarily, chasing her desperate cries. I can’t get enough, rolling the head of my cock against her g-spot, drawing strangled cries from the both of us. Afraid to put any space between us, I don’t withdraw from her searing hot cunt. I’m in heaven, seethed tightly whilst my hips roll and drive us both closer to the abyss. Everything else disappears. The academy, Clayton’s memory lurking like a shadow, the world outside of this room. It’s just Harperand me, tangled together in reckless devotion, burning for something neither of us can control.
My grip on her panties becomes bruising, the stitching ripping free. Desperate to have her bare beneath me, I fumble with the clasp of her bra, pulling back just long enough to drink her in. We’re both panting and flushed, but she’s breath-taking. She’s looking at me from beneath hooded eyes, like I’m not just a decay rotting everything I touch. Right here in this moment, I’m the man shechooses.
Pulling out an inch, I sink back into her, a guttural sound ripping from my throat. Spots pepper my vision, blinding me with the notion that we can stay like this forever. Slamming into her deeper than I thought possible, Harper surprises me, as she always does, by raising her hips to meet my every thrust. Pressing my forehead against hers, I breathe her in, hunting for the anchor that stops me from spiraling completely.
I can’t fuck her the way I’m used to, using the tactics I’ve perfected. Harper deserves to have my desire curve around her and bend to her will. Every deep thrust is in tune with the pinch of her features, the whimpers escaping her lips. She’s beautiful to watch, panting beneath me as her nails carve patterns into my skin that I want inked there. I want to wear the evidence of this for everyone to see, because this is the day she’s truly broken me. This is the moment I’ve become truly hers.
Chapter Six
True to his word, Rhys walked out of his house beside me this morning, dressed in his jersey and ready for the morning basketball practice alongside his team. This also means I’m up at the crack of dawn, my eyes sore and inner thighs feeling especially tender. Sitting on the bleachers, I track the players back and forth, starting to feel my head droop when a coffee cup appears before my face. I blink, fairly certain I’m imagining it, until the stream wafts into my face and I inhale the caffeine.
Accepting the cup from one of the lackeys who used to stay at Rhys’ place, he digs a hand into his pocket and tugs out a small box. My eyes blow wide at the sight of the Plan B, which I quickly snatch and hide beneath the hem of my sweater.
“It isn’t…we didn’t,” I stutter but thankfully, the lackey leaves before I blurt ‘he didn’t cum inside me’across the basketball court. Things did get very heated, very quickly yesterday, and it wasn’t just the once. Rhys took full advantage of his time hiding from the world with me.
Whilst the coach whistles for the next set of drills to start, I sneakily take the pill with a huge swig of coffee whilst simultaneously searching for a health clinic on my phone. Not that I don’t trust Rhys to keephimself clean, but he has been with many, many women, and I don’t particularly trustthem. Screw it, I’ll get us both booked in for peace of mind.
On the court, Rhys isn’t exactly blending in. He’s mouthing off at the coach, dragging his sneakers instead of sprinting, and throwing the ball with unnecessary force at his teammates. But he’s here, taking the first step of integrating back into society. When the whistle finally blows to end practice, I can’t help but laugh at the sight of him stomping toward me, just as pissed off as when we arrived. Sweat has plastered his jersey to his back, his hair falling out of place from the slicked style he’d started with.
“This is torture,” he groans, collapsing onto the bleacher beside me. “Pure, state-sanctioned torture.”
“You lasted an hour,” I sip the bitter coffee smugly. “I’m impressed.” He mumbles in response, snatching my cup and drinking the rest without asking. I suppose he did pay for it, in his obnoxious, entitled way. It is kinda nice to have a hint of the old Rhys back.
Leaning close enough for his damp shoulder to brush mine, I rear back in disgust. “Ew, go shower. I can’t go to breakfast with you smelling like that.”
“Are you offering to come and wash me down?” Rhys lifts a hopeful brow. Despite the flutter between my legs, I keep them firmly shut.
“Ask the others to wash your back. That’s part of a normal team bonding, right?” Rhys doesn’t dignify that with more than a snort, but he rises and heads for the locker room anyway. Smiling to myself, I close my eyes and stretch my neck, wondering if I have long enough for a quick nap.
Today is a cozy kind of day, as my sweatshirt states. ‘Comfort first, fucks given later.’ The teal material reaches mid-thigh so I feel comfortable in black leggings without giving everyone an eyeful of my bubble butt. Although, they shouldn’t be looking anyway. Women’s rights motherfuckers.
A shoulder nudges mine, the stench of body odor intensified, and I give a small shake of my head.
