Page 35 of Sins that Find Us


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James lets out a small growl, and then his fingers dig into my tender flesh. I gasp as his nails scrape my skin, and my head falls backward. I feel his breath, smell the spicy mint on every exhale just before he opens his mouth and takes a bite of my neck like a goddamn vampire.

His fingertips play with my nipple as he sucks a mark just below my jaw, and he surges forward, his hand tracing a line down my stomach toward where I want to be touched most. “If I had two hands, you’d have died at least three little deaths by now.”

I shudder at the thought, spreading my thighs as wide as I can get them in the narrow length of the tub. “Please,” I murmur.

“Please what, darling?”

“Touch me. Make me come. No one’s ever…” I stop, biting my tongue so hard I taste copper.

He nips at my jaw. Hard. “Say it, darling. No one’s ever what?”

“Done that before,” I gasp as I feel the tip of his finger reach my coarse hair. He’s an inch away from my clit, and God—God—I need to feel something. “No one’s ever touched me…no one’s ever made me come.”

“Except you,” he says. It’s not a question. He obviously knows what I’ve done from the dark laughter coating his words. “You’ve spread for yourself, haven’t you, darling? You’ve stuffed yourself full, put scratches on your thighs, begged into your pillow as you creamed all over your hand.”

I whimper. There’s nothing else I can do except wordlessly beg because if he doesn’t touch me soon, I’m going to die.

The water’s starting to cool—or maybe I’m just heating up as he toys with me, but just before I swear I’m going to lose my mind, his first two fingers touch me. He is clumsy—like maybe he’d lost his dominant hand and he’s still working to get this one to obey him better. But it doesn’t matter because it feels so good my vision whites out.

A dangerous, dark, depraved man is touching me. One who is responsible for my current torment—in more ways than one. He’s a man who turned my life upside down—a man who could very well be the reason I’m still drawing breath and the moment I won’t.

And holy hell, it’s everything.

He must be soaking wet and covered in soap, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s on his knees, his stump pressing against the side of my neck as his arm plunges deeper into the water. He toys with my clit for a few more moments, then dips his fingers inside me. I clench around him, the intrusion not quite painful, but the water makes it difficult for him to build up a rhythm.

After a beat, when it’s obvious I’m not going to get there like this, he growls and pulls back. “Close your eyes, darling,” he orders, his tone sounding like he’s on the verge of murder.

I expect violence as he rinses me, but instead, he leaves the water pressure gentle, and he uses his stump to comb over my locks as best he can. He’s trembling with a lack of patience, but he makes sure every bubble is gone.

My face is soaking wet from the spray, and I turn to see him uncapping the conditioner with his teeth.

“You don’t need to—”

“My darling, if you can’t keep your mouth shut while I finish this, I’ll find something else to occupy it.”

I try not to think of him using his cock, but that’s goddamn impossible. I turn away in an attempt to hide my blush, but his dark laugh says I wasn’t entirely successful. Closing my eyes, I try to ignore the burning under my skin, but I realize this is just another form of torture.

Anticipation and the unknown are worse than pain.

Still, it doesn’t take me long to get lost in the feel of his fingers brushing through my knots, and then he pulls over a comb and works all the tangles free. The desire has settled into a low simmer, and it’s not long before my exhaustion reminds me that I’m not in a really great place to be worked up like this.

I’ve been starving for the better part of two weeks, and I haven’t done any real sleeping. At least, none that gave me actual rest.

My head starts to slump, and my shoulders fall when James starts to rinse me again.

“You’ll drown if you’re not careful, little darling,” he murmurs, dropping the sprayer to lift me up by the chin. I don’t think he actually managed to work all of the conditioner out of my hair, but I can’t quite bring myself to care. Not when he’s lifting me up and fishing around for the knob to open the drain.

And especially not when he wraps me in a thick terry-cloth robe that starts to absorb all the water off my skin. I don’t feel entirely clean, but I feel better and strangely alive as he leads me toward the door.

My heart begins to pound again when I realize what’s happening. His fingers tighten over mine, and I fight the smallest urge to push away. Not because I don’t still want him, because God help me, I do. But I have no control.

“You have the power to say no,” he says.

Once again, I’ve spoken aloud without realizing it, and it’s not the first time I’ve wondered if this place has truly driven me mad.

Before I can respond, he turns me to face him, his hand pushing through the folds of my robe so he can dig his fingers into my bath-warmed waist. “Do you want to say no?”

I shake my head. It’s not a lie. I want to feel good. If this is all going to come crashing down, I want something to cling to. I want the power to decide for myself for once in my fucking life. I want to say yes without the fear of what someone might say or do.

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