Page 93 of Sin
His jaw flexes. “No.”
The confession is quiet. Terrible. Enough to make my knees weak. The phone keeps ringing and I take one step toward him. Then another.
“Then don’t.”
His control breaks visibly.
One second he is across the kitchen, still as stone. The next he is on me. His hands catch my waist, lifting me onto the counter like I weigh nothing. The phone rings beside my thigh, Jenna’s name bright and relentless, and Sin kisses me like he wants to drown out every sound in the world except the one I make when his hands slide under my shirt.
“Sin,” I gasp.
“I know.”
“You should—”
“I know.”
He kisses me again. Harder. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer, because apparently knowing has never stopped us from doing anything.
The phone stops ringing. Then starts again.
I look at it.
He doesn’t.
His mouth moves down my neck, teeth grazing the spot that makes my whole body jerk.
“Answer it,” I whisper.
I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because I want him to choose with the choice staring at him. Maybe because I hate myself. Maybe because I want to see how far gone he really is.
He reaches past me. For one wild second, I think he’s going to pick up. Instead, he slides the phone farther down the counter, away from us, screen still flashing.
“No.”
The word is rough. Then his hands are at my hips, dragging me to the edge of the counter. The ring becomes living thing in the room. Just a woman calling her husband while he puts his mouth on my skin and pulls my leggings down my thighs.
I should stop him.
I don’t.
I help.
That is the truth I will have to live with.
His hand moves between my legs, and I bite down on my own wrist to muffle the sound that tears out of me.
“Don’t hide from me,”
The phone rings again and Jenna’s name lights the counter.
Sin pushes two fingers inside me, and my head falls back against the cabinet.
“Oh my god.”
His mouth is at my ear.
“Not God.”
