Page 49 of Craving Sin

It’s a lot easier for me to focus on that, on him, than to let myself dwell on my own feelings. If I go down that route, I’m going to spiral—to lose my fucking shit the way I did all those years ago when Moira died.

Because this was…different. Having sex with Abbott was different from any sex I’ve had in what feels like an eternity, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a man.

I don’t give a fuck about that. What matters is how much I crave him, how much he makes me feel, and that’s exactly what I don’t want to think about, so I say, “Come on. Get up,” and hold my hand out for him.

Abbott ignores my hand, pulling up his pants and underwear, before doing the same for me. I still hold it out for him, though, and eventually, he takes it, allowing me to pull him to his feet.

I kissed him.

He sucked me off.

He jerked off for me.

I want to kiss him again.

“You’re good?” I ask, trying to keep this transactional, not allowing myself to look him in the face.

“Yes.”

“We should go check dinner.” I turn away from him, but am stopped by his hand on my face, by Abbott turning my head so I’m looking at him.

I shouldn’t let him control me like this. I should walk away so he knows this wasn’t about anything more than both of us getting our nut, but I don’t believe that, and he’s too smart to believe it either.

So when Abbott doesn’t let go of my face, instead leaning in to press his lips softly against mine again, I don’t stop him.

I kiss him back, tasting my release on his lips, on my tongue, and craving more of it.

More of him.

“I don’t regret it,” he says when he pulls away. “No matter what happens.”

My nape tingles, my heart pounding against the wall of my chest.

Goddamn this man. This beautiful, kind, sad man. I didn’t see it at first—the sadness. Maybe because he hides it well or maybe because I’ve spent too long blinded by my own sadness, but it’s there—thick and weighty inside of him.

A sort of sadness that matches my own.

“I don’t regret it either.” How can I? It was the first moment of true ecstasy, of true belonging that I’ve felt in a long time.

“You smell like me.” I smile and kiss him again. “Like my cum.” Like he’s mine. But he can’t be mine, and I’m not supposed to want him to be.

“That was the point.” Abbott returns my grin. “I want to smell like that for the rest of our time together. Like I belong to someone.”

My heart stumbles, nearly dies, then picks up again, my body flushing hot to do exactly what he said…to claim him. Mark him. Make him mine.

What is he doing to me? I’m not supposed to want anyone who isn’t her.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I lie, hiding the sadness back into the depths of me. “Let’s go check dinner,” I say again.

Abbott nods before the two of us go inside. When we’re back in the kitchen, I point to a chair at the table. “Sit.”

He cocks a brow. “Is that an order?”

Because it could be. In the situation we’re in, it could be. “A request.”

He nods and does as I ask, as I grab a potholder and open the oven.