Page 21 of No Small Sin

“Good girl,” he murmured, causing heat to pool in my lower abdomen.

Even in my current state, it was hard as fuck not to react to the taste of his skin on my lips.

“Anything else?” Ijah asked, almost incredulously.

“Yeah. Neither of us will be in tomorrow.”

Before he could respond, Beck scooped me up and snuggled me against him, carrying me out of the room, down the main hall, and up a set of stairs. We went through a couple more doors before there was the distinct sound and feel of bedding rustling and being pulled back.

He placed me down on the most comfortable fucking bed and pillow that I could have ever possibly imagined and tucked me in as if I were someone cherished.

I wanted to be that to him.

I was content in this moment, abundantly aware of Beck’s dominating presence. This dangerous man who didn’t feel dangerous to me at all, touching me with a gentleness that I was certain he’d not shown many others. Taking care of me.

I didn’t understand what had caused this shift in him. Did he feel sorry for me because of how pitiful I had been, or was it something else?

I decided I didn’t care. I was thankful for it either way.

My migraine had eased marginally, but not so much that I could do anything aside from attempting to fall into a restful sleep.

It didn’t take long. Satisfied thoughts of what tomorrow had in store had me anxious for the lapse in time.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Beck

Having her in my bed was torture.

Sleep had never been something that came easy for me. Most nights I lie in bed lulled into a restless slumber sometime in the early hours of the morning by a continuous slow-motion loop of the exact moment my bullet split the skin covering my brother’s frontal bone playing in my mind.

I don’t know that I have ever felt any sort of guilt about what happened. It was almost as if some minuscule part of my mind held onto what I logically knew I should feel, but couldn’t – the unquiet nights a punishment for not doing so.

Tonight, though, I was unable to silence my mind for an entirely different reason.

I’d attempted to sleep on the couch. Lying there, the mere thought of the heat of her body in the next room felt like a blazing infernobeggingme to walk into the flames.

To burn.

And I wanted to.

Lying motionless, I focused on the whir of the ceiling fan above me. Instead of quieting myself into a sense of mental repose, my body itched with tension at each turn of the blades.

I couldn’t fucking take it.

Jerking to a seated position, I ran my hands through my hair and tugged at the roots.

Maybe I just needed to be in my own bed. I couldn’t sleep on the couch.

I made my way to my room, the initial sight of her freezing me in place.

At some point in the night, she’d removed the cold therapy wrap I’d placed over her eyes. Her dark hair spilled over my pillow, lips parted ever-so-slightly. My breath caught in my throat.

I don’t know what came over me tonight, this desire tocarefor her that I am not sure I would have been able to fight if I had even bothered to make an effort to do so. Seeing her curled up in that booth so helpless and seemingly impaired scraped at my very bones and made me want to burn the entire building to the ground around us if it meant I could take away that vulnerability.

If she had been drunk, I would have done the same. But somehow the fact that she’d been in that position not by her own choice made it worse.

I would just lie next to her. Sleep wouldn’t come for me any time soon. It was too early in the night. Once in my own bed, I would at least feel more comfortable than on the couch. And I had no reason not to be there.

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