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He’s not mine. We’re not even dating. We’re literallyjustfucking. Actually, that’s not even the right term, Sinn is fucking me. I don’t even have the right to say what happens between us is mutual. He never even undresses. Hell, he hasn’t even kissed me for Christ’s sake! Why am I acting like he’s more than he is.
Because you want him to be.
As always, as if he can sense my attention on him, Sinn looks directly at me. I quickly avert my eyes. One, I hate that he caught me staring, and two, I don’t want him to see the hurt and jealousy I know are clearly written on my face.
I keep my eyes averted as I make my way to the bar. Instead of going to my usual seat, I head to the opposite end of the bar, as far away from Sinn’s booth as I can get. I’m not sure why I’m acting this way. Him having another beautiful woman, obviously flirting and eager to fuck him, is nothing new.
Tink isn’t behind the bar tonight, which is a first, so I order my usual whiskey on the rocks with a dash of coke from the new guy behind the bar. I remember him from my first night here. He’s the tall, skinny one that Sinn ordered to escort Billy Bob out of the bar.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile as he places a coaster and my drink in front of me.
He nods his head, but his eyes aren’t looking at me. They’re trained over my shoulder. I smell his leathery scent seconds before his massive body is looming over me.
His deep, sensual voice rumbles through his chest as he leans his head down and whispers in my left ear, “Are you purposely
trying to provoke me, Wendee?”
“What? No, why?” I ask, confused.
I feel his hand snaking around my ponytail, then he grips it in his fist and pulls my head back. The force of his pull staggers me backwards where I’m met with a hard chest pressed against my back and a hard dick pressed against my ass. I gasp at the sensation, a shock of desire rockets through me and my ass involuntarily grinds against him. I hear his low hiss as his free hand grips my waist firmly, suppressing any more movement.
“For starters, this fucking ponytail,” he pulls harder, stretching my neck into a painful angle, “this fucking top leaving my mark on full display,” a deep seething rumble reverberates through his chest and into me, “and thesefucking jeans.” His hand slides from my hip and he makes room between our bodies as he grabs a handful of my ass in a bruising grip. “I’ve never wanted an ass to sit on my face more than I want yours to. RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW.”
His words send a crude and hot imagine blasting across my closed eyelids. Him, finally naked beneath me, as I ride his face and take his cock into my mouth at the same time. He’s never gone down on me, which I assume is one of his RULES. Like the infuriating no kissing rule that I’m tempted to break and accept whatever consequences come after.
“Then take it, Sinn. I’m yours to take however you want,” I manage to barely breathe the words out with my throat at this angle.
My admission shocks me. Not two minutes ago I was reminding myself of exactly what we are to one another. Which is little to nothing, and yet the words I just spoke…they’re not a lie.
I’m his.
At least my body is. I can still say with certainty that my heart has remained locked inside of my chest, but for how long? Is this ice king going to be the one to finally rip my heart from my chest and crush it in his hands for good?
I open my eyes and I’m met with a fucking wildfire. A wildfire of blue flames looking down at me. Most people associate heat and fire with red and orange but the hottest part of any flame is its blue center, and these twin flames staring down at me are no doubt going to burn every inch of my skin and singe my fucking soul.
A throat clears loudly next to us followed by a smooth voice that breaks our trance on one another. “Now, this looks like a party I could get into.”
Sinn’s eyes turn back to ice so quickly that I wonder if I imagined the heated fire within them. He releases my ponytail but possessively wraps both arms around my waist, tugging me against him.
I’m stunned when I finally turn around to face the owner of the voice that interrupted us. He’s nearly as tall as Sinn and his brother, which isnotcommon, but his build is leaner. He stands casually with both hands in the pockets of his tailored black slacks. His suit jacket is a ridiculous, dark maroon crocodile print, that oddly looks…real.The material shines like a wet reptilian body even in the dim lighting of the bar. The jacket is buttoned over a white button-up shirt and black tie. He's giving Sinn a run for his money for the Mr. Boujee award. I almost want to roll my eyes, but I instantly lose the urge when mine lock with his.
Dangerous.
If I thought Sinn’s deep arctic blues were cold, it’s only because I’ve never seen these eyes before. They’re so light blue they’re almost white, and white would be the perfect color to describe the emotion I see staring back at me.
None.
Absolutely none.
These eyes are void of anything remotely human. There’s no anger, no mischief, no curiosity, no boredom, there’s no trace of anything alive in his eyes. It’s like I’m staring into the eyes of a corpse.
A cold shiver of terror cuts like a sharp knife down my spine.
“Well, aren’t you going to introduce me, Nephew?”
Nephew?I feel Sinn stiffen against me, but he doesn’t hesitate or faulter, and I look up into his face trying to see his eyes, but I can’t sense any type of fear or apprehension coming from him. His only tell is his stiff body against mine but I doubt anyone else would be able to notice his discomfort.
“Wendee, this is my uncle, The Crocodile.”
