Page 54 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
“I wander off for a beer and you lose focus?” I ask, and he blinks gray eyes at me, like he has no idea what I'm talking about. Of course, the confusion in his gaze fades considerably when I slide my palms up the front of his chest and curl my fingers together behind his neck. Lifting up on my tiptoes, I press my mouth against his. There's a slight hesitation at first, and I feel a zing of hurt travel through me, amping up the angry-pain that's swirling around inside my chest.
But then Sin's mouth opens, and I find it just as hot as my blood. His tongue slides against mine as he puts his hands on my hips and squeezes tight, pulling me against his chest. The men and women around us erupt in cheers and hoots. Well, everyone except the blonde, but fuck her.
Sin's mouth claims mine in a way I didn't know I needed. He takes away my stress and replaces it with lust. It burns as hot as my rage, and I find myself pressing against him, encouraging him, begging him for more. He gives me what I ask for, kissing me and holding on so tight his fingers are likely to leave bruises. I don’t care. It feels too damn good, like I’m losing myself in his embrace.
And that’s what I want: to let go of my emotions completely and never find them again. I’d happily drown in Sin’s ministrations.
We break apart for a moment, my breath fluttering like a butterfly's wings, my lips stinging.
“I need another drink,” I whisper as Sin releases me, a noticeable bulge in his tight, dark denim jeans. Maybe I can finally lose it tonight? I think, hating my virginity with a passion. No idea why. It just feels … false. Like, it’s supposed to be this big fucking deal, and yet, all I want is to know if I can find oblivion in sex the way I can find it in alcohol.
But if I am going to lose it tonight, I want another beer first. Makes it easier to hold onto my bravado … and my anger. My melancholy is like a specter, flitting at the edges of my vision, threatening its intrusion. I refuse to let it in.
I can feel Sin’s eyes on me as I saunter away and grab another brown bottle, popping the top as he moves over to stand beside me. He even puts his forearm on the wall and leans over me like he was just doing to that other girl.
A flip has been switched, and I love it.
I'm not Cat's daughter right now. I'm not a kid. I'm a red-blooded woman in the DBD clubhouse in a short skirt and heels. I feel my lips curve into a smile.
“What's that expression for?” Sin whispers, his voice barely audible above the din. I look up and find his face so close to mine, I think about kissing him again. But nah, I want to keep him on his toes. This whole flirting thing is seriously floating my boat tonight. It's the outlet that I needed, the one that I was looking for.
I don't care if it's healthy or not, only that in the moment, I feel okay. And that's worth my soul right now. I'm tired of feeling sad and weepy and broken. I hate it.
“Just enjoying myself,” I reply, shivering as he reaches down with a single inked finger and traces my clavicle. It feels so good, I can't stop myself from making a small sound, one that draws Sin's mouth to the side of my neck. He kisses his way down my skin, tasting me. Sensations overwhelm me, unfamiliar urges taking over my body. Despite my upbringing, my heritage, the fact that I was born of the devil … I'm still a virgin. “Hey,” I tell him, putting my palm against his chest and pausing our heated little moment. “I need to use the bathroom real quick.”
Sin nods and steps away, watching as I scurry off in the direction of the back hall and the bathrooms. I've got my purse with me, so I slip into the first door I come across with the intention of refreshing my makeup. I'm not scared about what's happening with Sin: I'm excited. My virginity isn't a trophy I'm clinging to, waiting for some white-washed jock asshole to come and win. No, it's just another part of my life, and I'm ready to move forward with something different.
I pause with my back to the bathroom door.
“Sorry, didn't know this one was occupied,” I say when I find Cade Grainger leaning over the counter, cutting lines of white powder on a mirror. He barely pauses to look up at me, but he does smile as he lines up the coke with a razorblade.
