Page 20 of Burned By Sin
“Why are you doing this?” I frown. Rhys is a bully, born of privilege and bred by entitlement. He doesn’t care for anyone other than himself. Yet his gaze softens as he assesses the wall beside my head.
“I’m trying this new thing where I only care about making Harper happy. It’s a nice reprieve from antagonizing my father for a while, plus it’s real easy. All Harper wants is good food, some nice clothes, and endless sex. I mean, the orgasms that girl can have are just?—”
The sound that escapes me is low, the kind that promises violence and broken legs. Rhys’s grin widens, proud of himself for getting the reaction he wanted. He flicks invisible dust from his jacket, smug as ever.
“But for some reason,” he continues, “she also wantsyou.And like the obedient little lap dog I am, I’m here to collect. You probably thought you had that golden retriever thing going on, all sappy eyes and bleeding heart. Turns out I’m more of a mastiff. Loyal, sure, but I tug the leash when I’m bored.” He bobs his brows, conceited as ever.
The duffel digs into my shoulder, the urge to leave this studio apartment far behind, but I can’t bring myself to move. Because for one split second, I see something different behind his grin. The man standing before me isn’t the one who harassed scholarship students, or the one who wore his anger as easily as he slipped into a fine suit. No longer the arrogant bastard who’s made my life hell, but someone who is trying far too hard to sound like he still enjoys this game.
“You’ve changed,” I mutter.
Rhys tips an invisible hat, grin returning just enough to look like himself again. Then he finally leaves, footsteps fading down the corridor until it’s just me, the hum of the dying light, and the echo of everything I thought I knew.
Chapter Twevle
Snowflakes the size of feathers drift past the windshield, catching in the headlights before dissolving into nothing. The world outside is muted to me, the kind of silence that holds its breath as we drive deeper into the unknown. Rhys taps the steering wheel to the rhythm of a song I can’t hear, his eyes fixed ahead through my Audi’s windscreen. Neither of us have said much since leaving the city, and if he’s feeling the same trepidation as I am, he doesn’t show it.
The phone call with his dad the other night had temporarily drained away all of his cocky remarks to let me see the man beneath. Raw and stripped back to a boy craving affection, a motherless child who wasn’t taught how to love. We were blind drunk and could have easily turned reckless, but instead Rhys wanted to be held all night. Much like when he broke into my dorm, the physical contact of my fingers stroking his back was enough. Then my period arrived and he’s been treating me like I’m made of glass, as if this isn’t a monthly occurrence I have learned to endure.
The car turns onto a narrow country lane, and I shift in my seat and glance out the window. The forest breaks into a clearing, revealing a house set so far back from the road, you wouldn’t know it was even there. My eyes widen, the serenity of it nothing like what I expected. I’dimagined something sleek and modern, a show of Rhys’s wealth. But the place before us looks like it’s been plucked from a winter postcard.
A two-story cabin stands, wrapped in strings of soft golden lights that trace the eaves and windows. A wreath hangs on the red front door, the kind made from pinecones and ribbon, while a pair of lanterns glow faintly on the porch steps. Snow coats the roof, gathering thickly along the rails of the wooden deck that circles the front.
“Woah, Rhys. It’s… beautiful,” I murmur, content to simply stare at it. Rhys throws the car into park and stretches his arms behind his head, pretending nonchalance but watching my reaction from the corner of his eye. Is that nervousness I sense? Tilting my head in his direction, the warmth of my smile ignites his own. “You have good taste.”
His laughter falls on my deaf ears before we open the car doors and step out into the cold. The air bites at my cheeks, my boots crunching beneath my feet as I tilt my head back, taking it all in. The lights, the quiet, the faint smell of wood smoke in the distance. Shouldering our bags, Rhys trudges toward the door and punches a code into the lockbox beside it.
Inside, warmth greets us immediately. The living room glows in shades of amber and gold, a fire already crackling in the stone hearth. Someone, probably the rental staff, has gone all out. A Christmas tree stands in the corner, tall and full, its branches dusted with faux snow and trimmed with glass ornaments that glint in the flickering flames. Red stockings hang above the fireplace, white fur trim around each one.
Digging my receivers out of my pocket, where they were stowed for when I inevitably fell asleep during the drive, I click them in place. I want to experience this with all of my senses. There’s music playing softly from somewhere in the house, a slow instrumental version of a Christmas song. It’s like walking into a memory I’ve long since stored away, of a little girl giddy to spend the holidays with loved ones. I feel like her again, so much so tears gather in my eyes.Rhys sets the bags down with a grunt, his boots thudding against the floorboards.
“Too much?”
“It’s perfect,” I say, hiding my face by kneeling in front of the fire to warm my hands. Then, a thought strikes and I twist back to see Rhys watching me. “Do you have any pleasant Christmas memories?” A harsh laugh echoes around the large room as Rhys drops heavily to his knees at my side.
“I got everything I ever wanted,” he replies bitterly, knowing full well that’s not what I’d asked. I decide then and there that I’m going to relive some of my favourite festive traditions this holiday, and I’m not talking about the costumes Aunt Marg would force me to dress her cats in for their annual photoshoot. I mean the ones I used to share with my parents. Rhys deserves to know what family is supposed to feel like.
Once warmed through, I hang up my coat and wander through the open archway into the kitchen. It’s huge, with marble countertops, copper pans, and a long farmhouse table that could seat ten. A garland of evergreen stretches across the cabinets, and there’s a bowl of oranges on the counter beside a handwritten note welcoming us to the property. Rhys eventually joins me, leaning against the counter with his arms folded. His gaze sweeps over the room, but I know he’s only half-seeing it. He’s distracted today, and I reckon I know why.
“Do you think he’ll come?” I ask, not needing to specify who I’m talking about. Rhys glances out of the window, his body remaining just as tense.
“I don’t know.” I walk toward him, watching the way the firelight from the living room casts lines across his face. Placing my hands on his arms, I dislodge him and step into his hold.
“Whether he does or doesn’t, it means a lot to me that you asked him. Thank you.” I lean up on my tiptoes and brush my lips over his. Rhys groans softly, his palms slipping under my t-shirt to cover my back.
“I can’t seem to resist you.”
“Good,” I smile, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth. Rocking his hips against me, that groan comes again, and Rhys’ fingers dig into my hips. Then, he pushes me a step back and hangs his head.
“Stop teasing me. You’re out of action for at least another few days.” Rearranging his dick in his jeans, Rhys turns to lean on the counter. A mischievous smile crosses my face as I drape myself over his back and whisper into his ear.
“My mouth isn’t.”
“Fucking hell,” Rhys chokes, spinning so fast I shriek. Lifting me, he plants my ass on the countertop and buries his face into my neck. “Such a naughty little minx. I’m trying so hard to be respectful for the first time in my damn life.” I reach between us and grab his shaft through his jeans.
“Mmmm, so,sohard Rhys.” Shoving himself away from the counter, Rhys grabs the bags and storms up the stairs, shouting for the entire world to hear.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Harper Addams!”
