Page 47 of House of Sin
He moved behind me, unfastening his own trousers with one hand, the other still pressed firm to my lower back. I felt him—hard, thick—slip between the heat of my thighs, teasing, testing, until he found that perfect slick resistance. He entered me in one slow push, filling me inch by inch until I had to brace myself on the edge of the vanity just to stay upright. The stretch was exquisite, deep, almost unbearable, and exactly what I’d been aching for.
He didn’t hold back. The rhythm was fast and brutal. Each thrust sent a shock wave through me, and I met him with everything I had, grinding back with ragged breaths, nails scraping across polished wood as pressure coiled tighter and tighter in my belly.
His hands roamed, firm and greedy, gripping, squeezing, claiming. His thumb pressing between my cheeks, teasing the edge of my ass. He circled there, then pushed inside, and the pressure nearly made me come undone.
A cry tore from my throat, half shock, halfsurrender.
“God, Victor—”
“You feel that?” He growled, thrusting deeper. “You take me so fucking well.”
I could only nod, body shaking, mouth open and useless. My thighs trembled, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He kept one hand tight on my hip, the other still pressing in behind, pushing my limits as he drove into me harder.
I could feel myself unraveling. "I'm going to come!" I cried out.
When the climax hit, it stole my voice, only a raw, guttural sound left behind. I clenched around him, shaking hard, every nerve in my body lit up. Victor groaned, his rhythm faltering just long enough for me to feel him pulsing inside me, hands gripping me like I was something wild he’d barely tamed.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Only the sound of our breath filled the space between us. The room was warm with sweat and the sweet, filthy scent of release.
Victor leaned forward, his chest against my back, lips brushing my ear.
“You needed that.” He huffed.
I smiled, slow and wicked. “You have no idea.”
31
IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU…
HIM
Istood at the edge of the alley, cloaked in shadow, my breath shallow and my heart pounding against my ribs. The brothel sat across the street, its new paint, polished shutters, and gas lights burning warm behind its windows. To the town, it was just another building, but I knew better.The Oily Cat pulsed, itbreathed, it exhaled heat and perfume and decay, like a rotting body dressed up in its finest church garb. It was a house of whoredom pretending to be civil. Every quiver of light from within, every silhouette that danced across the glass was a laughing desecration of the vows I had once whispered at an altar.
But still, I watched, because inside,shewas there.
Violet.
The name filled my mouth like a prayer, bitter and sweet, holy and profane. She didn’t belong in that place; she belonged in light, in purity, in somethingbetter. But they had dirtied her. Every she laughed, every touch she endured, chipped away at her sacred core. And I couldn't stop imagining her waiting to be saved. Waiting forme.
They didn’t see her the way I did. They saw flesh, curves, and a hole to pour sin into. But I saw the soul. I saw the soultrapped. And it made me burn.
It waspure temptation that drove me. My superiors told me to pray, but prayer had stopped working. All I could think of was Violet. The curve of her lips, the way her dress strained against her breasts every time she took a breath. I just wanted to touch her.
A shriek of laughter broke through the open window, sultry, drenched in gin, and I flinched. I pressed a hand to the rosary in my pocket, fingers fumbling through the beads like a lifeline, but it offered no comfort. Just cold stone and colder memory.
Inside they were laughing, drinking, touching. Corrupting. And Violet was somewhere in the middle of it, playing her part. She wasn’t meant for this. . . she was meant forme.
I would take her from this place and strip the filth from her soul. Give her a new name and a new life with my hand, under my roof. In my bed.
I would be the one to purify her.
A crash from inside snapped me back into the moment. Chairs scraped across the floor, and a scuffle spilled out into the street. Two men, drunk, red-faced, and snarling like dogs in heat, tumbled out of the brothel doors, their fists already flying and connecting with flesh.
“You think you can just take her from me?” The heavy-set man with a scar across his face growled, his voice full of venom. The sound of his words sent a ripple of disgust through my chest.
My pulse quickened and a knot tightened in my gut. This was what I had feared: the unchecked violence that this place fostered, the depravity that lay just beneath the surface of every man who set foot inside. I could feel the heat of it rising inside me, the urge to intervene battling against the cold logic that warned me to stay hidden.
The other man, smaller and weaker, scrambled to his feet, wiping blood from his lip, his eyes wide with fear. “She’s not yours, Finn! You don’t own her! I didn’t even get a chance with her before your dumb ass got us kicked out!”
