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“Come here, Frey,” he softly orders, pulling me onto him.
Naked, I straddle his waist, reaching behind to position him at my entrance. He arches into me easily as my body molds to him. I press my palms on his chest, feeling the warmth that radiates from him.
“You’re such a good girl, Frey,” he says, taking my breasts in his hands. “You know that?”
A quiet breath escapes me as I rise slowly before lowering myself back onto him, creating the perfect rhythm. He traces his thumbs over my nipples, and the sensation feels electrifying.
My eager cries fill the room as I rock my hips. He feels so deep, beyond buried to the hilt. Heightening the sensation, he firmly grasps my hips, digging his fingertips into my skin. There’s the sound of skin smacking as I rock into him, setting my own pace and taking every ounce of control.
Power.
It feels incredible.
“Daze,” I call out breathlessly, grinding myself against his pelvis. The friction builds and builds before pushing me far over the edge.
Crying out to him, my body convulses. I see stars behind my eyelids.
“Frey, baby,” he grunts, bucking his hips while caressing what feels like every part of my body. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Like an angel.” He reaches for my collarbone and curves his fingers around my cross. Pulling tight on the chain, he thrusts into me deeper and finds his release. “Damn, you’re a fucking angel, sent just for me.”
Collapsing beside him seconds later, he drags me into his arms… and simplyholdsme.
And for a second—just one—I consider the dangerous possibility that a person could be more dizzying than the wildest high.
And worth of the most grievous sin.
* * *
Starved, I enter the kitchen and make myself a sandwich. He joins me not long after, with a cigarette in hand, and fishes his own snack from the fridge. Then we eat in silence, watching each other from opposite ends of the room.
Finally, he draws his half-eaten sandwich away and asks with his mouth partially full, “Ain’t this a sin?”
“What?” I feel my brows furrow. I’m seated on the couch, and from the corner of my eye, I swear I can make out his bloodstains on the material.
“Your father is some hotshot preacher man, isn’t he? Shouldn’t you be in church or some shit?”
“And shouldn’t you be at a gang meeting?” I spit back, but there’s no real malice in my voice. He has a point. “Father’s the Shepherd,” I add, drawing my knees up beneath my chin. “Of the Covenant. They believe in Christianity but don’t practice out of a typical church. We hold congregation wherever they feel the giving spirit.” I finger a suspiciously dark splotch on a nearby cushion. It’s definitely blood. “I could be praying right now for all you know.”
“And your father just lets you wander around without a bodyguard? Even while he’s running for fucking governor?”
I shrug. “He’s busy.” At least leading Covenant gives him a sanctimonious excuse for neglecting his children. “You want to know something really funny?” I tilt my head to observe his wary frown. “According to him, we can’t even have a ‘true’ conversation until I repent and join his congregation. Though what he really wants is another trophy. Hale played the part for a while, the dutiful son.”
He’d been a stranger then. Someone who looked at me and no longer saw his kid sister. Just a selfish, ugly burden.
“How did he get into drugs?” Daze asks. “Don’t give me that look,” he adds in response to my raised eyebrow. “I do listen when you talk.”
“I’m not sure exactly when it happened,” I admit, crossing my arms over my chest. “But he changed. He got angrier. Meaner. Paranoid. It was like he knew something but wouldn’t talk to me about what.” I may not be able to remember him clearly, but I remember watching him pace throughout the house, always distracted. “He stopped going to congregation meetings. Then he…”
“Why do you blame your dad?” Daze wonders in between ravenous bites of his sandwich. “Lack of parental guidance?”
“No.” I look down at my hands, watching how they tremble, still holding slivers of meat and bread. “When Hale died, I searched his room. I found bank statements listing transfers from my dad’s account into Hale’s. A lot of money. And Father isn’t stupid. He had to have known something wasn’t…” I shake my head as my eyes burn. “You don’t give someone with a problem that kind of money.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“I can’t.” I tug at my cross and sigh. “As long as I’m a ‘sinner,’ I don’t matter to him. I’m just a statistic to help or hinder his campaign.”
“The savior of the city,” Daze says, once again channeling Father’s bravado. “What do you know about his little volunteer program?”
“Salvation?” I bite my lower lip. The words could be a mocking quip, but he’s using that serious tone again. “Hale called it a scam. I know my father is staking his election campaign on the fact that he eradicated forty percent of overall crime. Like your little gang, for instance.”
