Page 37 of My Forever Sin

Kain’s door opens and I baulk, my heart rate spiking. He steps out—tall and broad, his sculpted face covered in the same fucking makeup as me, and an arrogant smirk playing on his face as if he knew how predictable I was.

The fraud upstairs has to be playing some type of joke on me. There’s no other explanation for this.

The cross necklace he always wears rests on the hard planes of his chest, the black top stretching over his muscles and when his eyes swim leisurely over my body, I still.

“Original,” I quip.

“Yes.” A mask of satisfaction that I’m wearing what he bought me sits on his face.

Instant regret putting them on. Fuck.

His eyes map every part of me from head to toe. My hair. My eyes. My neck. The hollow of my collarbones. The corset that pushes my breasts up way too high. The exposed flesh of my legs through my fishnet tights. Then his gaze morphs into pure, unconcealed heat, exactly like they used to before he worshipped every inch of my body on his bed. The same bed I can see behind him, sheets messed up like I never left.

His mouth parts like he’s about to say something, but I get there before he has a chance to.

“Excuse me, I’m late,” I say, cutting through the taut air between us, but it returns with a vengeance, causing my throat to dry as his inflamed eyes burn through my very being.

“Are you?”

“I’m not here to engage in conversation with you.” I swallow down hard as my gaze lingers. Those red veins around his pools of hazel that have now become a permanent part of him. I hate it. How can his presence make me feel rage, yet when I look into the eyes I remember so well, longing hits?

I shouldn’t feel anything towards him. I should be clawing to get away from him and not attending some pointless Halloween party knowing he’s coming.

He gestures to the side with his arm. “I thought you were late.”

“I am,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.

“So why aren’t you moving?” His voice is pure amused delight as he leans against the doorframe. And just like that, dormant feelings clatter further down the pit.

“Because you’re keeping me here by talking to me.”

He laughs, an effortless chuckle that mocks me. “No one's stopping you, Jordie.”

“I’m going to the party. Try not to ruin it for me like you seem to do with everything else.”

I turn, making a point of shutting the door, the sound like a gunshot in the silence. My neck prickles with him watching me as I start down the hallway.

“Wait,” he says. “I’m taking you.” It’s not a question. It’s a calm and sure statement.

I shouldn’t turn around, but I do.

“No,” I fire back, lifting my chin slightly when he nears me, his fresh scent invading every one of my senses.

“I wasn’t asking, Jordie. You’re coming with me.”

“No.” When I start down the hallway again, his inevitable footsteps follow.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I always have a choice,” I argue.

“Not anymore.”

I stop in my tracks, unable to move, and for a few short seconds, unable to say anything past the ball in my throat. “What the fuck did you just say?” He’s digging that hole deeper and deeper. The one that reminds me exactly who he is and who’s side he’s on.

“Your body belongs to your future husband, child. Now, take off your pants like Samuel asked you to do. This isn’t a choice or a question, it’s an order. You don’t get to make choices here.”

“You heard me.” He brushes past me again and my eyes fix on the back of his head as he continues walking, my jaw slacking in disbelief at what he just said. “Come.” It’s a smooth, lazy demand.