Page 54 of Sins that Find Us


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“Kane would have let me say no,” I admit, leaning in close enough that I can feel her warmth against my lips. I bring my hand up and trace over her mouth—lips plush and warm and wet where she ran her tongue over them. She shivers beneath me as I press her against the door.

“Do you love him?”

“With every fiber of my being.” The answer comes too easily.

She lifts her chin—I feel it in the way her lips bump mine. “Do you hate him?”

“Slightly less than I love him,” I reply just as quickly.

“And me?”

I pull back just slightly, skimming my knuckle along her jaw. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was trying to distract me again. “Do I love you?”

She huffs. “Hate me. Because my father—”

“Weren’t you just the one to remind me that he’s not your father?” I ask, then shove my fingers into her soft, thick locks and grip tightly. She hisses, but instead of trying to fight me, she leans in like she wants it. And hell, maybe she does.

I think of her in the library that night—how afraid yet bold she was with me, and I ask her now as I did before, “Can you see me?”

“The lights are on,” she says.

I hate that I don’t know if she’s lying since I took the AI out, but it really doesn’t matter. The cameras will pick up exactly what they need to pick up, and Kane will have the first weapon to stab Romano.

I walk back, taking her with me, then spin her until the backs of her knees press against the bed. With perfunctory motions, I skim my hands over her—assessing her body. She’s trembling beneath a thick sweater and thin leggings, and as I palm her ass, I can tell she’s not wearing panties.

“On purpose?” I growl.

It takes her a moment to answer. “Ah. Ah…no, Ari…”

That little shit. I should have known, but James distracted me just as they were finishing up their tryst in the woods. “In his pocket, I imagine?”

She laughs, the sound a little breathless as I press my lips to her throat and taste the salt of her skin. “How did you know?”

“Because he made James wear some once—for the entire day. Fucker loved it. He came in them twice, then Ari took them as a reward.”

Alice groans and shudders, and I think that maybe she will fit in here. She will resent the rest of us for ruining the life she might have had, but that’s just par for the course when you’re a misfit. We’re all a delicious mix of saints that were corrupted by the sins of our past, our fathers, our choices. And we can both hate and love in the same breath and still not want to change a single day of how we live.

My fingers curl into the hem of her sweater, and it’s not long before I have that off. Soon after, her leggings are in a pile at our feet, and I can smell her musk, the scent even stronger as her legs part. I brush my palm up her warm thigh, then cup her between the legs, feeling her core wet and hot with need.

It’s wild to think no one has ever touched her before us. She’s so responsive to every twitch of my fingers it’s a wonder she didn’t find a way to shake her father’s guards and just let herself be taken in some dingy bathroom somewhere. And yet, I’m thankful to that bastard for that single thing because it means all of her firsts belong to us.

And the first cock that slips inside her will belong to the last person that Guido Romano will ever see. I pause to see if I feel any resentment or any hatred toward Alice for who she is—but all that’s there is a thrumming need, burning hot in my chest.

“Phoenix,” Alice whispers, and I realize I’ve drifted.

I turn my head to face her, using my free hand to cup her chin, my thumb resting on her lips so I can find them with my own. I kiss her slowly at first, then dig my teeth into her lower lip until she opens to me, and I drink in her groan as I ease her down against the bed.

I’m still dressed, but it doesn’t take me long to strip off my shirt and undo the fly on my jeans. My cock is thick and fat, and I curl my fist around it, giving it a stroke. I feel Alice lean up to watch, and I think maybe she wasn’t lying about the lights after all.

I shudder and fight back a groan at the thought of her watching me like this.

“It may hurt,” I tell her. “I’m on the larger side.”

“I can see that.” She says those two words almost like she’s accepting a promise and not a warning. “I want to touch you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

I puff out a breath of air as my head tips down toward her, and bracing myself on one hand, I use my other to lift her arm, letting her palm splay out on the worst of my scars. In truth, they don’t bother me. I wasn’t raised in a world of unmarked beauty. Scars show the fire we lived through. The history is seared into our skin, and I can see the lives my men have lived whenever I run my fingers over them.

“I don’t mind the pain,” I tell her as she begins to explore. Most of them are completely numb since the blast destroyed my nerve endings.

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